


Ivy and Twine

by sighclops



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Alternate - Freeform, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighclops/pseuds/sighclops
Summary: When Revan saves Malak's life on the Star Forge, no one knows what to expect. As she attempts to uncover the truth about her former life, she finds that some answers only lead to more questions, and not all of the past can be left behind. AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _“And he knew it wasn’t going to be okay, and he told me it wasn’t going to be okay. And he wouldn’t kiss me, but he covered my body with his body…”_  
>  -Richard Siken

Revan knows, logically, that she has a mother. She knows that someone brought her into this galaxy and cared for her--loved her, even--enough to hand her over to the Jedi. She likes to imagine what her mother might’ve looked like, how her lips would’ve stretched when she smiled or how her hand might’ve engulfed Revan’s when they’d walk to the market on the weekends. Maybe her head would tilt as she poured them both tea in the morning, or she’d tap her bottom lip when she was in thought like Revan finds herself doing far too often.

From time to time she loses herself in this imaginary life, this vision of one person who might make everything okay, who would’ve calmed her as thunderstorms stole over the plains of their imaginary planet, or brushed her hair when she was feeling ill: someone to console her and right all her wrongs.

It’s the idea that there could be one safe place--at least one. One place where the galaxy doesn’t know her name, where the past doesn’t threaten to swallow her up in its enormity and its utter vagueness. Because Revan realizes that she will never remember her mother--she might not have remembered her even before her mind was swept away--and that emptiness is deep and weary and difficult to face. So it becomes where Revan retreats, where she imagines her and this _not-a-person-but-an-idea_ skipping rocks across the sea, watching the waves catch them and drag them back to the shore.

_You can’t lose yourself in this way of thinking_ , her mother tells her, and Revan is quick to remind her, _I’m already lost._

Because her mother isn’t the only thing that’s missing. No--if you look very closely, if you wipe away the mystique, strip down the armor of the image, and forget that grand person in the stories--if you take it all away, scrutinize it down to the last cell, the most minuscule portion--

You’ll find that there isn’t much left at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Malak is smiling, and Revan hates how easily it comes to him these days.

Or rather, she hates seeing it from a distance, the way the muscles around his eyes lift a certain way, giving him an expression that is obvious in a way that he needs it to be. The soft lines contrast the metal casing around his jaw, and there’s something unnerving about it: the happiness that reaches his eyes like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

There aren’t many of them left on the _Hawk_ , but somehow they’ve become used to this person. Somehow they’ve become friends with this person without even realizing it. Somehow these weeks it’s taken to fly to Kashyyyk have erased the horrors of a war that’s still fizzling out.

Gathering from the news they’re still receiving from the Republic fleet, the last of Malak’s empire is being chased down, destroyed, abandoned even as he lives here on the _Ebon Hawk_.  

_This isn’t how it was supposed to go_ , Revan thinks, _it was supposed to be more of a fight_.

_This was your choice_ , her mother, or not mother, reminds her.

_I don’t need him_ \--an answer to a question that wasn’t asked, but Revan feels it anyway. She watches him again, feeling like an intruder on her own ship, and he is the picture of calm as he sits next to Juhani in the main hold. They could be talking about anything, Revan can’t hear from where she’s standing, but it’s probably of little importance considering the expressions on their faces. Juhani had been one of the first to oppose her decision to save his life. _Reckless_ , she’d said, and her sharp eyes pinned Revan where she stood, enough to make Revan’s own doubts wake up and settle heavily in the back of her mind.

Revan’s not even sure what had changed Juhani’s mind. It was shortly after he woke up, of course, when he started healing in ernest and they decided to hide him away. Maybe it’s because of their similar experiences, recovering from the sickness that is the dark side, trying to live a new life when your old one is so ugly and heavy and _there_. Revan thinks she’d understand it if she could remember her past, if she didn’t get a literal blank slate, if her choice wasn’t made easier by the fact that she didn’t have to choose at all.

But that’s good, if that’s the case. That’s good for them, they should have that sense of support when it comes to fighting an evil that is always on their heels. To have someone who _gets it_. That seems...healthy.

Or rather, maybe they’re friends simply because Juhani isn’t Revan, and that’s all it seems to take for Malak these days.

He catches Revan’s eye as Juhani animatedly explains something beside him, and she doesn’t imagine the way the smile slips away from his expression. He looks at her and something harder comes over him, something distant and unwelcoming, and it would probably worry her more if she wasn’t the only one on the receiving end of these looks.

He came out of the Star Forge dead to the Force, so she supposes it makes sense, at least, for him to hate her.

_He acts this way because he knows you’ll use him_ , her mother says, and Revan shakes her head when Malak turns his attention back to Juhani.

_I won’t_ , she returns, and thinks that maybe that’s the one benefit of her mother being long gone--it’s much easier to lie to her.


	3. Chapter 3

And in the end, it wasn’t much of a choice.

Revan’s ears rushed with all the noise, too much noise, and if she’d just looked up she would’ve seen two fleets tearing each other apart. She would’ve watched them fire shot after shot, breaking apart; a roar of chaos with no confidence. If she’d just looked up, she would’ve realized it was pointless when the real war was right here, the two of them, and she was either losing or winning, depending on how one viewed the situation.

If she’d looked up--if she just could’ve torn her eyes away from Malak crumpled against the floor, hand clutching his side and swiftly turning red--then maybe she wouldn’t be where she is now. Maybe she could’ve spared herself this pain that always aches in her chest. Maybe she would’ve realized that just because her mind moves the way it does, calculates the way it does, thinks _forwards, backwards, sideways_ the way it does, doesn’t mean she could’ve seen any of it coming. Doesn’t mean she could’ve seen _through_ any of it.

And maybe if she could’ve, then maybe she would have left him there to die. Maybe she wouldn’t have grit her teeth against her own injuries and dragged herself towards him, brushing her hand against the too pale skin of his face. Maybe she wouldn’t have healed his most fatal wounds, or shouted into her comm for help to carry him back to the _Hawk_ as the Star Forge crumbled around her.

No, in the end it wasn’t much of a choice, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t undo it. There isn’t a way to reach into the past, and if there was, she isn’t sure that that’s the point she would go to.

Even if she--if that’s what she wanted--if it’s what _he_ wanted--if she could--if she wanted to--

Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?


	4. Chapter 4

There are eight of them that travel to Kashyyyk.

In hindsight, crowding Juhani, Mission, Zaalbar, HK, Jolee, Revan, and Malak into one tiny hut wasn’t a good idea, but it’s quiet and secluded and safe enough for now. It gives them all a chance to breathe, and for Revan, a chance to plan their next move.

She tries to sleep on the floor of the spare bedroom, listening to Mission and Juhani breathing in the dark. Sometimes she stands by the doorway to the other bedroom, keeping watch the same way HK does outside. Sometimes she stands outside with HK and marvels at the trees that stretch endlessly into the shadows above them.

Most nights she meditates, begging the Force to reveal parts of her that have been long forgotten.

It doesn’t do her any good.

Malak is still distant, doesn’t even look at her, makes even the warmest place by the fire feel cold. He makes the whole world feel cold, but Revan tells herself it doesn’t matter. She watches him but he doesn’t meet her gaze. He takes off with Jolee during the day, and disappears when the rest of them eat dinner together--he doesn’t eat at all, at least not that she can tell, and talks to pretty much everyone except for her.

Zaalbar stayed with the wookiees up on the walkway, but she’s pretty sure Malak would talk to him before he ever willingly talked to her.

At least, that’s what she thinks until one morning she’s alone in the kitchen, and it’s dark because it’s always dark here, and she’s alone because Juhani and Mission went up to the canopy, and Malak and Jolee are off doing whatever Malak and Jolee do.

Jolee has--like the others--been caught off guard by how well they get along. The two talk a lot for two people who say they keep to themselves. They share a room in Jolee’s tiny hut, going for walks in the woods or working on whatever repairs are needed. Revan only really sees them when they’re stacking firewood or when they’re in the kitchen, and each time it’s, _Insufferable. Aren’t you supposed to be on the dark side?_ and _You wish, old man._

She knows it’s probably good for Malak to have someone like Jolee to talk to, and she thinks, in those rare times that they’re together, that she can see some kind of change in him. Whatever idea she had of him before is beginning to fall away, but there’s nothing to replace it with--just a person who was ripped from the Force but still somehow makes it seem like it was his choice.

_We both got the easy way out_ , she tells her mother, _and yet I can’t accept it like he does._

_Has he really accepted it?_ her mother asks.

_If he hasn't, then he’s very convincing_ , she answers, searching her thoughts. She’s interrupted when Malak himself walks in through the front door, his head turning just enough for him to realize she’s there. His pace falters, but he continues into the bedroom, returning only a moment later to the kitchen.

She watches him carefully, trying not to stare, but she doesn’t know where else her eyes would go, anyway. The long lines of his back and shoulders move with a grace that surprises her. She watches the shape of his body and the planes of his tattoos that trace up the back of his neck, and--has he always had those? She doesn’t know a thing about him.

Somehow she doesn’t think he’d appreciate it if she asked.

And she doesn’t think he’s going to talk to her, either, judging by his silence, but he glances over his shoulder and asks, “Is this water still hot?”

His gaze moves to the kettle, and Revan nearly stumbles over her words at the initial shock of conversation. She takes a second to think about it, the steam still rises from her mug in front of her, and says, “It should be.”

He nods to himself and pours water into his own mug. Another surprise: he takes it to the table and sits across from her. He doesn’t look at her but he explains, “It’s for Jolee, I’m only going to sit here while it steeps.”

_Why?_ she asks herself. _Why now?_

“Where is he?” she asks aloud.

“There was a Czerka officer,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough. It is. He knows that.

Revan nods, but then he looks at her--really looks at her, and she feels frozen. The two of them sit in a bright kitchen on a dark world, steam rises slowly and lazily between them, and Malak’s clear eyes trace over her. He might be better at hiding his reaction than her because she can’t understand the meaning behind his gaze; she can’t read him at all. It’s unsettling.

She looks away. Hears him sigh.

“Our last conversation didn’t go well,” he says. But of course it didn’t, it was right after he woke up on the _Hawk_. He thought he was dead. He wanted to be dead. He’s still alive, and Revan didn’t have the right words then. She doesn’t remember enough to have the right words for him. His brows furrow and his hand shifts where it’s holding the mug. “This isn’t something I want to deal with, Revan. The past is dead...I don’t think there’s a point for us to talk at all.”

“You’ve made that clear,” she snaps before she can stop herself. _Careful_ , her mother says.

But Malak sighs, or whatever equivalent he has of the action. His jaw works out the sound slowly, and his gaze drops to the table. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” she says, evenly this time.   

“I’m not helping you because you saved my life,” he says. “You of all people should know it doesn’t work that way.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

_You will_ , is what his expression says, is what her mother says, is what she knows, deep down, her own heart says.

“You’re the only one who knew me,” she amends, even though saying the words aloud feels like a failure. She wants to be in control of this conversation but it’s slipped through her fingers. She may not have had it at all, considering--

Considering his eyes stay on her a little longer this time, and she hates that she has to work so hard not to give herself away to someone who can see through her so easily. His gaze narrows and she tries ignore the anger in his words: “If I told you about who you were, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I don’t see how it couldn’t.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me.”

“That’s selfish.”

“And you weren’t?” he demands.

“What? When I saved your life?”

“Yes!” he shouts, and fist comes down hard on the table, enough for the two mugs of tea to shift and shake, threatening to spill out. He leans back in his seat, turning his head away, and just the sound of the fire crackling fills the space between them. It’s a long moment before he says, “Things would have been different if I didn’t know you, Revan; if I didn’t know your _past_.”

“Well maybe I’m different,” she bites out, though she knows his statement isn’t completely false. There wasn’t time to think, then. She could only react to her surroundings, but some part of her must have known, some part must have realized what it meant to save his life.

“That’s the thing,” he says, “I don’t think you are.”

“You haven’t given me a chance.” The shadows of the room feel bigger now, closing them in together, and Revan hates that he’s at such an advantage here. How can you convince someone when you don’t know what makes them tick? How can you get information from them when they already know all the ways in which you’ll try?

As it is, he gets up from the table. He leaves her with one last look, another one she can’t read, and quietly says, “It’s not worth it, Revan. Trust me.”

She watches him disappear into Jolee’s room, and her racing heart beats against her chest but she’s only absently aware of it. It doesn’t slow down fully until Jolee himself returns a few long minutes later. He takes one look at her, at the two mugs of tea set on the table, and shakes his head to himself, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

“I take it things didn’t go well,” he says, sitting down.

“Something like that,” she says, blowing out a breath of air. “I don’t think he wants anything to do with me.”

“Give him time. Give yourself time.”

She looks down into her mug. She’s hardly drank her tea and it’s gone a bit lukewarm, but for some reason it’s comforting to rub her thumb over the small chip on the handle. Her brows draw together and she resists the urge to frown. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Jolee. I don’t know if there’ll be enough time.”

“Bah--still so dramatic,” he mutters. “You have all the damn time you need, and if you don’t, then you don’t. Life goes on.”

And doesn’t that hurt? Life goes on and on--Revan laughs to herself. “Do you ever get tired of having all the wisdom in the galaxy?”

“Not at all, kid,” he says, raising his mug towards her with the slightest grin. “Not at all.”

Revan looks to Malak’s door, and something in her chest says _go after him_ , but she ignores it. Her hand twitches against the tabletop, and this time she allows herself to frown as she asks herself, _Did either of us really get the easy way out?_


	5. Chapter 5

Revan spends far too long at Malak’s bedside, hand covering her mouth. She listens to his laborious breaths and watches his chest rise and fall in slow, aching motions. In contrast, she feels completely still as her eyes trace over the lines of his missing jaw.

The metal casing had to be removed in their attempt to save him, leaving the cauterized, scarred flesh exposed. It makes her feel sick to her stomach, but it’s not the gruesome sight that bothers her. It’s not the reality of his disfigurement, nor the extent of the damage, but rather it’s the thought that sits in the back of her mind. It’s just a whisper, just her intuition, but it says-- _is this because of me?_

_Would you want to know if it was?_ her mother asks.

The hand that was covering her mouth moves to her forehead, and she exhales a breath far louder than any of his. She stays like this for a long time, curled up in the seat next to him, wondering how she could once know him so well for him to end as a stranger to her. The skin around his eyes is dark and scarred, but every so often his brow twitches: a sign of life when there isn’t much left.

Eventually Carth comes in, pulling a seat over next to hers, and he’s quiet for a minute. She glances over at him; she can tell he’s tired. They haven’t stopped moving since they crashed on Lehon, and everything that’s happened since then has been a heavy burden to bear.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she murmurs, filling the space between them. And it’s true, they haven’t gotten the chance to talk yet, but she knows Carth. She’s pushed to get to know him, even back on Taris when it felt impossible and they worked together because they had to, not because it was something they both wanted.

Revan doesn’t think either of them know what they want anymore.

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “What am I going to say?”

“That I should’ve left him to die on the Star Forge. That it was irresponsible of me to save his life.”

He huffs out a weak laugh before relaxing into his seat. His chin rests in his hand as some sort of emotion works across his handsome face.

“I should be furious,” he says eventually. “Hell, I want to be furious. This man ruined my life. He’s the one who ordered the attack on Telos and destroyed my family. He’s responsible for far too many deaths, but...”

When he trails off, his gaze travels from Revan to Malak before he drops a deep breath and continues, “Nothing is black and white, is it? When we first left Dantooine it seemed so simple, but so much has changed since then. I guess I don’t know how to feel anymore.”

Revan feels a small grin pull at the edges of her lips and reaches over to place her hand on his forearm. “You’re not alone in that.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t still naive and irresponsible to let him live,” he says, though there isn’t any malice in his words. However, he’s infinitely more serious when he asks, “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t have an answer for you,” she says softly. “I hardly understand it myself. All I know is that when it came down to it, I couldn’t kill him.”

“Why?” Carth asks again. “Is it because he knew you?”

“I don’t know.”

Carth shakes his head. “You won’t be able to trust anything he says. He’s the one who tried to kill you. There are others--I’m sure the Jedi Council would tell you if you asked.”

“They rewrote my brain and would’ve let me live the rest of my life believing I was someone else, Carth. I don’t expect them to tell me anything that wouldn’t benefit them first.”

This time Carth stands up from his seat, crossing his arms over each other. He takes a step away from Malak but doesn’t stray far. His features are visibly upset, but he’s reigning it in. “You have to realize how this looks, Revan. If they find out, how will they be able to trust you?”

“How can anyone trust me?” she questions. “I know you’ve been hurt, Carth, and I know you’ve been betrayed by the two of us before, but what can I do? It sounds crazy, and I might even _be_ crazy, but how can I punish someone who’s only in this position because of me?”

_If you had not led me down the dark path in the first place, what path would I have found?_

“That was his choice,” Carth says, his voice harsh. Loud. “Your fall to the dark side doesn’t give him a free pass for what he’s done. He can’t claim innocence for his crimes.”

_I alone must accept responsibility for my fate._

Revan’s voice raises to meet his. “So he should be killed?”

“It wouldn’t be wrong,” he explains, and the whole room shifts with the anger that fills it. “His actions haven’t garnered mercy.”

“Then kill me too,” she snaps. “For I’ve done far worse and have been given the choice of redemption.”

“That’s different.”

_That destiny was not mine, Revan_ . _It might’ve been yours, perhaps...but never mine._

“Because I lost my memories?” she asks. “Of course. If the Council hadn’t taken every part of me away and replaced me with someone else, there would be no mercy here either.”

Carth visibly deflates, coming closer to sit in the chair again. “There’s no point in speculating that. All we have is what’s in front of us, and you have to realize what a threat it is to keep Malak alive. The potential of him harming anyone else, or worse, turning you...”

_And in the end, as the darkness takes me, I am nothing_.

Revan refocuses her attention on Malak. If it’s possible for a man his size to look smaller, he does. Jolee had to remove his armor to access his injuries, and he’s now covered by a soft, cream colored robe. His broad shoulders look deflated, his skin cold and discolored, even the tattoos that stretch across his scalp look pale and lifeless in this light.

“He’s weak,” she says, closing her eyes for a moment to reach out with the Force. He’s barely holding on, not only injured from their fight, but also drained from leaving the Star Forge where the darkness sustained him. When she opens her eyes she turns to Carth, adding quietly, “I can’t even sense the Force in him. He’s just a shadow of what we encountered on the _Leviathan_.”

Carth nods. “I’m just worried about you, Revan. Please don’t underestimate him.”

“I won’t,” she promises.

“And please,” he continues, hesitating before reaching out to take her hand. His expression is dead serious. “Please don’t trust him.”

Revan looks down at their joined hands. They’d had a moment, back on the beach on Lehon, a freestanding _what if_ that settled between them. They hadn’t really gotten the chance to talk about it, and she knows now isn’t the right time, but this is a moment too. She strokes her thumb against his skin, lifting up one corner of her lips. “You have my word.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask for,” he says and Revan nods. He squeezes her hand once before standing again, drifting towards the doorway. “I’ll check back on you soon.”

\--

Later, and certainly it’s much later, Revan sits at the table as the rain seeps through the canopy of the wroshyr trees. It never quite reaches them the same way rain typically does, in heavy sheets or at least something solid and constant. Here, the drops find their own paths, slipping down the trees and weaving their way towards the ground, falling in random patterns--enough to know that it’s definitely raining somewhere above them.

Jolee serves his soup piping hot. Revan takes to sitting in front of it, letting the steam drift up towards her face, and today she listens to the rain _drip, drip....drip_ onto the roof.

“There’s a hole,” Jolee says, pulling her away from her thoughts, or her not-thoughts. It’s that emptiness she retreats to every now and then. He’s tending to the fire, and Revan must look lost because he shakes his head with a smirk. “The roof. It needs to be fixed.”

“How can you tell?” she asks, looking around the main area of the hut. She’d like to think she’d be able to tell if there was a leak, but the whole room sits still and warm--emptier now that Juhani and Mission left for Coruscant.

“When you get to be my age,” he says, and he takes a seat next to her. “You just know.”

A small smile steals itself onto her lips, and she wants to say something about his age, but she’s learned her lesson by now. “So, what? Did you want _me_ to fix it?”

“You would make an old man get up there and fix it himself?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she tries to say seriously, but Jolee always brings out a better side of her. “I don’t think I’ve ever fixed a roof before. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

_I don’t think_ \--it’s becoming a regular part of her vocabulary. Even before she found out she was Revan, the past seemed mysteriously large and empty. She can’t commit to anything she doesn’t know. She has no memory of fixing a roof, but that doesn’t mean it’s never happened. Does that make sense? That her body might’ve done these things but to her it’s never taken place. Her hands hold more memories than her mind does, and the thought never gets any easier to bear.

“I’ve got some materials stored out back,” Jolee says. “I’ll send the boy to help you.”

_The boy_ meaning Malak, meaning another few hours spent in stony, stubborn silence, meaning she’ll have to keep pretending she isn’t desperate for him to tell her something--anything, at this point.

Luckily she stops herself from saying _no thanks_ , even though it’s her initial response. She can’t quite help the sharp look she sends Jolee’s way, but it doesn’t matter, he ignores it and goes about pouring himself a bowl of soup. They both eat quietly and then he leads her outside and the two of them stand a good distance from the hut, far back enough to see where the roof has broken apart toward the bottom, away from the large wroshyr limb that curves over it.

“Okay,” she says, and Jolee explains how to fix it and the rain falls in such strange patterns that it surprises her every time a drop hits her skin or her hair or her shoulders as she hauls herself up onto the roof. The whole forest floor smells strange--earthy and almost sweet, like it should be familiar but something doesn’t connect.

And for some reason it makes her think of Carth. There’s something inherently unsteady about being up this high, which is to say that it isn’t that high at all when she compares it to places like the Star Forge, but it’s high enough to make her wary of falling. She knows it would be enough to hurt her, and that’s the thing about Carth, there was never anything dangerous about getting close to him.

What happens when you tell someone you’re no good and they don’t believe you? What happens when their perceived image of you–their idea of you–supersedes reality, and that somehow they know better simply because they want to know better? What happens when you tell someone you’re no good and then you show them you’re no good and they’re disappointed and all you can think is, _well, what did you expect?_

You want to know what happens? They tell you you’re wrong, and then they leave.

They say, _I want to help you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to fix this._

_This_ , being the six foot someone who climbs up onto the roof with little effort–he doesn’t say hi and she doesn’t say hi because they both know they’re there, and they already say so little to each other that they can’t waste words on the obvious. He watches the way she weaves the roof back together for a moment and then he follows suit on the other side of the hole. It isn’t difficult work and it’s easier when the rain falls more heavily to fill the silence between them.

She looks up just as a droplet hits his temple, tracing its way down his cheekbone and over his jaw, dulled by the gray light.

“You’re okay with this?” he asks, but it sounds more like a statement.

“With what?” she returns. “The roof?”

“The rain,” he corrects, as if that’s an answer, as if it could be that easy, and all she can think is, _why wouldn’t I be?_

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she says aloud, but Malak’s curious eyes shift into that same blank look as he shakes his head, and he goes back to work as though neither of them had said anything at all.

“Malak,” she says, and the word feels strange in her mouth because she never calls his name, but this feels important and she’d like to think that she knows when to push and when to pull away, even if the past few weeks have proven the complete opposite. She blinks back a drop of rain and asks, “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

He shakes his head again, and his hands are still moving and Revan can’t quite take her attention away from them. Long pale fingers, intricate work--she’s mesmerized and she hates the fact that she’s mesmerized. The sound of the rain sits between them, and he has to raise that stupid mechanical voice of his in order to say, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s your answer to everything,” she mutters, and sits back, feeling the damp roof seep into her robes.

“No,” he returns, but his hands still. “Well yes, but...you never really explained it to me. I don’t think you understood then, so I can’t imagine you would understand now.”

“I didn’t like the rain,” she states, testing the words out. A truth about her past.

Finally his eyes lift to meet hers. His gaze is searching, but if he wants answers he won’t find any. Revan hardly know what to think about it.

“No,” he says again, and still he gauges her reaction. Isn’t that funny? That the first thing he tells her about herself is such a small thing, such an insignificant measure of who she was, but it feels monumental between them.

“Okay.” She knows that if she pushes it any further it’s going to lead to their usual fight, and she doesn’t want to have to explain to Jolee why they couldn’t get along well enough to fix his roof.

She watches Malak refocus his attention as he starts his repairs once more, muttering, “Your obsession with the past isn’t healthy.”

It stings, but she smirks. “You wouldn’t understand.”

And there--she thinks she can see a smile in his features, but he nods towards her hands. “Get back to work, Revan.”

She rolls her eyes but listens to him for once. If she allows herself to think about it, there’s something peaceful about the moment. The only sound that sits between them is that of the rain, which continues to start and stop every few seconds, and where his presence is usually composed of tired anger, there’s some kind of resignation to it now.

Another drop of rain hits her across her cheek, and she wonders if she should flinch, or if that’s what her past self would’ve done. She wonders if the rain was really the problem at all, or if it was something else. She pauses, looking up at Malak, and wonders about it--perhaps the worst thought is that if she kept the real reason from him, then the truth might never be recovered.

And that’s a tragedy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for a panic attack.

There comes an afternoon when Revan wanders through the woods for far too long, straying further and further until the trees become sparse and the canopy above her breaks apart. That warm sun falls all the way down, rushing towards her like an invitation where she’s been deprived of its touch for the past few weeks. She feels a little more alive beneath the light bending in to meet her, a little more whole as she tilts her head back to feel its warmth on her skin.

It’s hard to heal from something you can’t name.

So maybe she stays for too long. Maybe she settles in the grass and closes her eyes, reaching for the Force and reaching for answers. Only one finds her where she is.

But the light dwindles and she picks herself up. She doesn’t allow herself to think about anything anything anything, she tells her mother to be quiet, and she picks her way through the dense forest, finding the right path to lead her back to Jolee’s hut.

For a long time it’s just the sound of her boots softly moving through the tall grass, her hands at her sides, and her mind drawn out and blank. For a long time she thinks she can find some measure of peace, but then she sees a figure coming towards her on the path, too tall to be anyone else, and it all goes away.

“Hey,” she says, once they meet in the middle.

“Hi.” Malak doesn’t meet her gaze, which is just fine, she’s used to that, but some part of her still feels annoyed. In the fading light he looks softer, from the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, to the way he stands, looser and with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you with Jolee?” she asks.

“No,” he answers. “I just...wanted to take a walk.”

Neither of them move for a long moment that borders on uncomfortable. Revan shifts her weight, sighing quietly. “I was heading back, if you wanted to walk together.”

And Malak’s brows come down, leading Revan to think _what now?_ , before he says, “You’re going the wrong way.”

“No I’m not,” she says. “The hut is down this path.”

“No, it’s down that one,” he argues, pointing in the opposite direction.

She squints into the distance. Honestly, both paths look the same to her but she’s not about to tell him that. “I’ve spent a lot of time here, I think I’d know.”

“Yeah, and so have I, so...”

“Oh really, Malak? Why don’t you tell me about your previous trips to Kashyyyk?” she asks as she starts to walk down the path she originally pointed out. Some part of her knew he’d join her, so she swallows down a satisfied smile when she hears his steps follow.

“I’d rather not,” he says.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” She looks over at him, looks _up_ at him. They never walk side by side, so it’s a strange experience, feeling this small next to him. “So why are you coming with me if you know it’s wrong?”

“Because I want to be there when you realize you’re wrong.”

“And if I’m right?” she questions.

“What about it?”

“If this path leads back to Jolee’s house,” she says, “then you have to tell me something about myself. Something important, too.”

He scoffs. “Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Because you always talk your way around things, Revan. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me that technically all the paths lead back to Jolee’s house.”

She pauses, and when he realizes it he stops and looks at her with a brow raised. She points her finger at him. “That is...not wrong, but it kind of counts as information about my previous life.”

He rolls his eyes. “Barely.”

“You might as well just tell me,” she says, walking again, pushing a branch out of her way. It scratches her palm, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. “The way I see it, I’m going to keep bothering you about it, and you’ll make your life easier by getting it over with.”

“You think you can convince me?” he asks.

She thinks about it for a moment. “I know some part of it must be painful for you, Malak, but it was my life. I don’t think it’s a matter of convincing you to tell me anything, I think it’s a matter of you recognizing that I deserve to know.”

“And that’s where you don’t get it, Revan,” he returns. “I don’t care. Telling you about the past won’t make you the person you were then. That was who I...”

He pauses for too long. Revan frowns. “Who you what?”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the ground before him and she watches him work through whatever thought that came to his mind. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but then, “That’s who I’d tell. That was the person who deserved to know. Maybe it’d be different if you remembered something, but as it is, it’d just be another story to you.”

“I don’t think so,” she says, but how can she be sure? “You told me about the rain, why did you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why can’t we just start with the little things? Why does it have to be this big of a deal? You have to realize that I just want something, _anything_.”

“Like what?”

“Like when we came to Kashyyyk,” she offers. “You and me, finding the star map. What about that?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to, Revan.”

“Well what do you want?” she asks, but she regrets it the second the words come out. He looks down at her and he gives her a knowing look. He wanted to die on the Star Forge. She sighs. “Nevermind.”

They walk in silence for a long time after that, and if Revan’s honest with herself she doesn’t recognize where she is. The woods get darker and darker, and she focuses on breathing and watching the path ahead of her for stray roots that hide in the grass. It isn’t for a while until her eyes catch the sight of a lake to their left, and she strays from the path to go look at it.

“Have you seen this?” she asks, and stops, watching the water. It’s dark and still and stretches out into the mist.

She tries to gauge his reaction but he seems unimpressed. “Is this you admitting that you don’t know where we are?”

“No,” she says. It’s a lie, and he probably knows that, but she’s going to prove this point. “I’m exactly where I wanted to be. In fact, I think I might go swimming.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” he says immediately.

“Why? The water looks nice.”

He watches her, and something serious comes over his face. She assumes it has to do with her past, given the way he shuts down. Her eyes narrow and she says, “Tell me why, Malak.”

When he still doesn’t say anything she takes off her outer robe, stripping down to just her undershirt and leggings. Malak looks away. The water is cold against the bare skin of her feet and ankles, seeping into the bottom of her leggings as she wades a little further out.

“Don’t do this,” he says, and when she looks over her shoulder she can see genuine concern on his features.

“Why?”

He pauses for too long, she strays further and further away from him, but his voice is still clear when he finally says, “You don’t swim.”

“I don’t swim and I don’t like the rain,” she states. “Was there something wrong with me or did I just have a problem with water?”

“Revan--”

“What?” she asks, knee deep. She turns around to face him, and he stands in the grassy bed next to the lake, the pile of her robes at his feet, and the look on his face nearly makes her come back, but she refuses to give in. “Maybe you’re wrong, Malak. Maybe I’m not who I was. Look at me, I’m fine!”

His brows draw together and he turns away again before he regards her fully. “I’m not going to tell you anything if you do this.”

But something inside tells her she’s right, so she gives him a challenging look, watching the way his eyes fixate firmly on her, and holds her arms straight out at her sides. She counts down from ten and closes her eyes, letting her body fall straight back into the water.

The panic hits her immediately. Though the water is shallow it floods her senses, rushing against her all at once, disorienting her. It’s too dark to see anything, and her limbs feel useless as she attempts to right herself, thrashing as her breath chokes with panic and she swallows down mouthfuls of lake water. It feels like it lasts a lifetime, struggling and struggling until she feels a pair of arms wrap around her and pull her out of the water entirely.

She’s coughing too much to fully understand. She can’t _breathe_ and the panic only gets worse as she fights to stop coughing. It’s like her body won’t respond, won’t allow her even a moment to calm down as she gags on every breath she attempts to take. Her lungs tighten and her eyes are squeezed shut as she tries to inhale despite the way her instincts take over.

“Breathe,” she hears Malak say, and it’s then that she realizes she’s held firmly against his chest. She doesn’t know how long it takes her to stop coughing, but it does slow down and she’s trembling. Malak adjusts his grip, pulls her tighter against him and she buries her face in his robes, seeking warmth, comfort, _something_.

And then, to her shame, tears spring to her eyes. She tries to blink them back but it’s _awful_. She can’t stop shaking, can’t stop thinking _why did this have to happen to me?_ This: it’s having to start life over again, being told that you’ve committed great crimes against the galaxy, against everyone you’ve ever cared about. It’s being told you were someone else entirely, that you’ve betrayed and you’ve hurt and you can’t kriffing remember any of it. You dream of a life you can call your own but it’s not there and it’s not there and it’s _not there_.

She can still feel the traces of water in her lungs as she chokes out sobs against Malak’s chest. She’s sorry for him too, so sorry that she kept him alive when that wasn’t what he wanted. She’s sorry she’s tried to use him, that she doesn’t know him at all.

“I’m sorry,” she says aloud, still crying, can’t stop crying. She feels childlike and foolish and ridiculous, but she can’t stop now that it’s there. Now that she’s given herself the chance to realize how much she hates her life, how much she hates herself, and how she can still feel the panic of the water in her body as she shakes. It’s someone else’s panic, it’s someone else’s pain, and she cries because it doesn’t belong to her.

No, nothing--not one thing belongs to her.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and her chest hurts. “I’m sorry, Malak. I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything but she feels the metal curve of his chin rest against the top of her head, and still she cries against his chest. It takes too long for it to subside, she feels entirely exposed, but Malak gradually extracts himself from her grip and reaches for her boots and robe. He’s silent as he helps her put them on over her damp clothes--her hair is still wet and hangs limply against her tear stained face, but it’s when she catches a glimpse of him that she feels truly exposed.

His eyes are red rimmed and sad, avoiding hers as he focuses his attention on guiding her arms into her sleeves. Her aching chest pulls. What has she done to him? How could she possibly have caused this much pain?

Some part of her waits for her mother’s response but there’s nothing there. And isn’t that the kicker? That her mother, for all intents and purposes, does not exist. She’s less than a shadow of a memory, all made up inside her head, and at the end of the day Revan is truly alone.

Her stomach drops with the thought, and she reaches a hand out to steady herself against the solid tree next to her. Her whole body feels numb, and her free hand rises to cover her face. She’s so ashamed of herself--for all the things she’s done and all the things she hasn’t. She’s ashamed of where she’s shown selfish need in the face of mercy.  

“I don’t know where we are,” she says, her voice hoarse, and she drops her hand finally to look at him. “You win.”

He nods but he still doesn't say anything. He still doesn’t look at her and she thinks this must be it. This is where she’s pushed too far. This is where it all comes--finally--crashing down.

But that’s not what happens.

“It’s this way,” he says quietly, nodding to the side, but he stays where he is. Revan narrows her eyes, too exhausted to make anything of it until he continues, “Come on.”

She watches him blankly, but instead of stepping away he draws closer, cautious. She feels his hand at her wrist, and then he’s leaning down, his arm coming under her legs and lifting her off the ground once more. Her arms automatically wrap around his neck, registering the feeling of his wide palm against her ribs.

He’s solid as they walk, she can hardly tell that they’re moving at all, and she’s helpless to just tuck her face against his shoulder, her eyes stuck on the proximity of his metal jaw. The shadows loom darker and darker the further they make their way back, and the shape of it gets lost, where she can almost imagine him as whole.

All this time she’s known how much he towers over everyone--she’s always felt so small in comparison--but there’s something about being held by him that makes that feeling infinitely worse. Something about the way his arms hold her up as if she weighs nothing; he’s solid and strong and holds her tight enough that she can breathe again. And what about that? That focusing on his touch, on all the places their bodies are pressed against each other, allows her to forget, even for just a moment, that struggle to catch her breath.

Some part of her wounded pride wants him to put her down, and some part of her thinks he should’ve left her behind completely. All of her wonders why he carries her through the woods, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t dare break this moment or what it could mean.

Eventually the warm lights of Jolee’s hut come into view and Malak slows, adjusting his grip as he opens the door and continues to carry her into the main room. In the light she can see the exhaustion in his features, but he remains steady. He bends down, setting her onto the couch, and crouches before her. They have to face what’s happened but it’s not that simple.

“Why?” she asks, the word falling from her lips as barely anything.

He looks away at first, his eyes turning down before he meets her gaze again. “I don’t know how I can explain it to you.”

She watches him, quiet, and wants to understand. She thinks of all the ways she’s pushed him these past few weeks, relentless in her attempt to find out about her past--but the truth is that it’s his past too, and she’s hurting him. She’s actively hurting him and she can’t stomach the thought of doing it anymore.

“Okay,” she says, and still he stays before her, close enough that she could reach out and touch him. She doesn’t know why she thinks that but she does, her eyes lingering a little longer on his metal jaw, the way the warm light of the fire ghosts over it, and that same question still lingers at the forefront of her mind: _is this because of me?_

In fact, she could look at all of him, the whole of him, and ask: _is this because of me?_

Instead, she asks, “Are you angry?”

And he nods. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she says again. When she really thinks about it she wants to cry, but it wouldn’t help anything so she holds back. She just doesn’t understand why Malak is still with her; why he didn’t leave her back in the woods. She almost hesitates, but she reaches over and nudges his hand where it rests next to hers on the couch, saying, “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“Right,” he says, as if he’s only just realized that he is, in fact, still crouched in front of her. With his height, they’re at eye level but he looks away again. “Right.”

She watches him get up, too tired to move from the couch herself. She still feels the traces of panic in the way her hands shake, but she tucks them into fists and crosses her arms. Malak looks her over once before he disappears into Jolee’s room without another word.

And it’s funny, that as she stares at the door, her mother’s voice finally seeps back in.

 _He took care of you,_ she says, and Revan is too relieved at the thought that she doesn’t allow herself to dwell on its implication: _this isn’t the first time it’s happened_.


	7. Chapter 7

Mission brings it up when the two of them are alone in the dorms.

They’re sitting on Revan’s bunk, and Mission is behind her, practicing braiding her hair. They’ve been quiet for some time. Revan keeps getting lulled by the motion of Mission picking up one strand of hair, crossing it over to the other side, and repeating it again and again. Her pace moves faster once she gets close to the end, right before she ties it off, and that’s when she says, “I talked to Malak.”

Revan glances over her shoulder at her before turning around fully. Mission’s eyes are worried, and even in this shadowed light, her blue skin looks deeper. It makes her appear older than her nearly fifteen years. Revan raises a brow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I wasn’t nice to him,” she starts, and Revan tries to imagine what that would look like--Mission and Malak--as she goes on to say, “I felt like I finally had the right place to put my anger. Taris was his fault, you know?”

“Yeah,” Revan sympathizes, her stomach aching as it usually does when she thinks about Taris. She ignores it, though, and asks, “How did he take it?”

That’s when Mission covers her eyes with one of her hands, leaning into it and taking a long moment to herself. Revan frowns, drawing closer. “Hey,” she says, and she wraps an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Mission mumbles, but thankfully her voice is even. “Revan, it’s not okay.”

“What happened?” Revan asks, this time much more serious. Her concern feels palpable, from the way she holds Mission to the way her heart hammers in her chest.

But then Mission says, “He understood,” and everything feels a little different after that.

“He understood?” Revan repeats, backing away from Mission so she can look at the girl who finally meets her eyes, conflict evident in her gaze.

She sighs. “He let me explain--or yell, I guess. I was so angry, Rev, and he just took it. He apologized, and then we talked for a really long time. I know he doesn’t expect me to forgive him, but what else am I supposed to do with that?”

“Well, do you want to forgive him?” Revan asks, wondering what in the galaxy they could’ve talked about that would have Mission in such a state.

“Yeah,” she answers, and there it is: the guilt.

“Mission,” Revan starts, offering her a smile. “You don’t have to hate him, and you especially don’t have to hate him for my sake.”

But Mission shakes her head. “I know I don’t, but I want to. This whole thing--it’s kind of a let down. Since the beginning he’s been the enemy..."

“And now he’s not.”

“No,” Mission says. “I don’t think he is.”

 _What did he say?_ her mother asks. _How could he make her feel better about Taris?_

Revan won’t ask, no matter how curious she is. Instead she stays quiet, stays there for Mission as the girl obviously works through her conflicting thoughts. Finally she looks up and asks, “Do you hate him?”

“Me?” Revan asks. “Um...I hate what he’s done, but honestly, Mish? I don’t know him.”

“But he knows you...”

What can she say to that? He knows her and he must know _so much_. There’s so much there, but she doesn’t know what it’ll take for him to talk to her. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever talk to her, given the way he shut down when he realized what she’d done. She doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

No, it definitely wasn’t this...

“Hey, but you saved his life,” Mission says. “I think that means something.”

And Revan can’t help but grin. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Well, maybe some part of you still remembers him, even if you can’t access the memories right now.”

Revan watches her, her smile falling a little at the corners, but it doesn’t fade all the way considering the hope in the young Twi’lek’s eyes. Revan doesn’t have the heart to tell her about how trying to reach the past leaves her blank and unsettled, leaves her with this sick feeling that churns low in her stomach and makes her head hurt. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. It’s hard to get past.

“Maybe,” is all she says, squeezing the girl’s shoulder.

“And maybe,” Mission continues, “maybe that part of you still cares about him.”

\--

Revan watches Malak from across the table, thinking about Mission. She misses her so much--they’ve been together since Taris, been through so much together, and now it’s been a whole week since she’s seen her. All of them--the whole crew, were together for so long, and now it’s just Revan, Malak, and Jolee.

It’s starting to feel strange.

 _Maybe some part of you still remembers him_ , Mission said all those weeks ago, and Revan watches Malak, wondering how he could be a stranger to her still, even after all this time, even after the other day at the lake--even now, sitting with him and Jolee at the table. The already dark forest gets darker as evening draws on, but inside the lamps flicker and cast unsteady light onto their faces. It makes Malak’s blue eyes look gray as he watches Jolee, blinking slowly.

 _How can you care for someone you don’t know?_ her mother asks.

 _Some version of me must have cared_ , she answers. _And I care about her, so I should care about him_.

And though he was paying attention to Jolee, Malak makes eye contact with her the moment the thought comes. Revan can’t look away, even as his eyes squint slightly in confusion.

She’s been trying to understand what happened between them the other day, but her thoughts are clouded by memories of panic. She can still feel it in her bones, but she can also still feel the tightening of Malak’s arms around her, the assurance in his grip. Her guilt keeps getting bigger and there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s hardly said a word to him since then, but still, something’s softer between them despite the distance. Malak looks to her more. He’ll find her gaze in the morning, or she’ll catch him watching her--there’s something different in his eyes--but words have escaped them both.

Revan’s never known what to say to him, but it feels like it’s getting more difficult to figure it out.

That’s where her mind stays for a while, watching him divide his attention between her and Jolee, until she hears Jolee say, “It’s almost like the last time you two were here.”

“What?” she asks immediately, finally taking her eyes off of Malak. Jolee looks at her with a slight grin, as though he said it purposefully, but it slowly dissipates as he takes in her expression.

“Jolee,” Malak says lowly. A warning.

“When you were looking for the star map you stayed here for a few days,” he explains, and Revan swears her heart’s going to pound out of her chest as she looks between the two of them, completely different than a moment ago, and they both carry cautious expressions.

“You said you knew who I was,” she says, “but you didn’t say it was because you’ve _met me already_.”

“Should I have?”

“Yes,” she implores. “Do you not realize how unfair that is?”

He sighs. “Ah kid, there just wasn’t the right time to say anything.”

“And _now_ is the right time?” she asks, feeling a sense of anger rise in her chest that she’s been ignoring for some time now.

“Yes,” he says, and he looks slyly at Malak before returning his gaze to her. “Yes, I think it is.”

She looks at Malak as well, who’s completely checked out of the conversation. His head is lowered and his eyes are locked on the table, at his hands before him, and he doesn’t dare look at either of them. Revan shakes her head--this is too much. “I can’t tell you how tired I am of being kept in the dark.”

“Revan,” Jolee starts.

“No--forget it,” she says, standing up. She doesn’t look at either of them as she heads towards the door. “It’s fine, I just need some air.”

It’s not fine but she’s tired of being this way--unhinged and difficult--so she’d rather get away. The sound of the door shuts behind her and it’s colder out than she thought it would be, so she drags her sleeves down and holds them tight around her wrists. The cold hits her all at once, but she squints against it and takes off down one of the familiar paths.

 _Pull yourself together_ , her mother tells her as she wades through the tall grass, feeling her way forward as her eyes adjust to the dark. _You’re acting childish_.

 _He knew_ , Revan defends.

_Is this the way to deal with it?_

She shakes her head. _I don’t know how to deal with any of it, that’s the problem._

_You know that’s not true._

Revan ignores her. Somewhere behind her she can hear the sound of the door opening and closing again, so she sets her pace faster. She’s not in the mood to deal with this, and yeah, maybe it is childish but does it matter? Does it change anything? Right now she’d rather freeze alone in these woods than talk about it.

Pushing a branch out of her way, she has to stumble back as a surprised tach jumps onto the path in front of her. The little creature hops back into the shelter of the tall grass and she hears a voice call out.

“Revan!”

That’s Malak. She hesitates, but then turns her head. His tall figure isn’t too far behind her and he catches up quickly, cutting through the grass and the dark haze of the forest floor.

“I thought you were Jolee,” she says once he’s in front of her, and she can’t quite read his expression. She thought she was getting better at it, but maybe she was just fooling herself. She doesn’t think she knows him at all.

He shakes his head, and he appears to be looking her over before he says, “He said to give you time.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because,” he answers, and it takes him a long time to continue, “I wanted to explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Jolee,” he offers. “He wasn’t hiding anything.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

“Revan...”

The thought doesn’t go anywhere, and she has to start walking again. It’s too cold to stand still, and she knows at this point that he’ll come with her. He does. They fall into step and when he still doesn’t continue, she says, “Either tell me something or don’t, Malak. I don’t think I care anymore.”

“Yes you do.”

“Fine, whatever,” she says. “But I’m done bothering you about it, okay? I won’t ask.”

The silence stretches on and on, and Revan always finds it strange that they can sustain the quiet for as long as they do. She finds it strange that the two of them do better without words, because words always lead to arguments, and arguments get them nowhere. She finds it strange that when she looks up, the black void of the canopy blocks out the stars.

It takes a very, very long time for Malak to ask, “Is it because of the other day?”

She turns to look at him but he stares straight ahead. “What?”

“You, giving up.” He meets her eye then, and she thinks he might be challenging her.

“I’m not giving up. I meant it when I said I was sorry. Obviously this has been hard for you, and I haven’t been making it any easier.”

“Revan,” he says again, and pauses again. She doesn’t understand what’s weighing so heavily on him, can’t get a good read on him, doesn’t want to go there anymore.

When he still doesn’t say anything, she offers, “We can just walk in silence, if you want.”

She looks away, and though she only barely reaches his shoulder, she can see him nod in her peripheral. They walk and walk and it’s cold but Revan can’t really feel anything right now. Her mind is just a litany of _how many people have lied to you about your past_ , and _does anyone actually care about you,_ and _where do you go from here?_

Isn’t that a good question...where does she go from here?

Where could she possibly go? There’s no place in this galaxy where she can escape her past--escape herself. There’s nothing she can do right now to fix this, and that might be what’s frustrating her the most. That no matter how much she strategizes, no matter what she plans, there’s no way out. There’s nothing that can truly be done without the help of others, and right now she has no confidence that anyone will ever come through.

And there’s a big thought behind it all, that there’s something she’s missing. There was something important she was supposed to remember, but it’s just as lost as the rest of her memories.

She looks over at Malak, at his profile just barely illuminated by the misty light that shifts along the forest floor. It’s funny how he can be so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time--like if she could reach back just a little further, she would know him by heart.

“We should head back,” he says after a while.

Revan shakes her head, thinking about the hut, thinking about Jolee. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s late,” he argues, “and you’re cold.”

“I’m fine,” she says. “You can go back without me.”

He stops walking, and Revan tilts her head back in frustration before stopping as well, turning to face him. “What?” she asks.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You say that a lot for someone who isn’t fine, Revan.”

“Well I’ll _be_ fine, Malak. I just need some time...or something. I don’t know,” she says, turning her head away. “I’ll figure it out.”

“No you won’t,” he says in return and she frowns at that, looking back at him. “You’ve never been fine, Revan. Not since you were a kid.”

“What?” she asks, cursing the sound of hope in her voice.

He shakes his head. “I’m not getting into it.”

“Oh,” she says. “I just--forget it.”

Malak looks at her with such an expression; it’s right _there_ and she can’t name it. She stays where she is and shakes from the cold and the impact of what he’s said. _You’ve never been fine, Revan._ What does she do with that?

He sighs. “I don’t know how to tell you anything without having to explain all of it. Nothing makes sense on its own, and it’s so much. All of it--it’s too much.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Even if I wanted to tell you about the past, it’s too big. There’s no way I can explain everything, but that doesn’t mean I want you to give up,” he clarifies, and she’s confused for a moment until she remembers their conversation earlier. He goes on to say, “I’m worried about you.”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer at first, because of course he doesn’t. His attention is drawn towards the line of trees beside them, and he takes a deep breath, exhaling with a soft sound. “It’s not...simple.”

“And I’m supposed to just accept that?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t know.”

“Malak, I don’t understand.”

“Well I don’t know what to say!”

“Then go back to the hut.”  

“I told you, I’m not leaving without you.”

“ _Why_?”

She sounds desperate and he doesn’t answer her. They’re facing each other, watching each other, and she thinks this might be the most confusing argument they’ve had. When he still doesn’t say anything she has to take a long breath, focusing on calming her nerves as they rise in anger. “This is so frustrating, Malak.”

He rubs his hand over his face. Frankly, he looks exhausted, but Revan doesn’t know what to make of it. She doesn’t know what to make of any of it--from his half answers to his hesitation to talk to her at all.

“Go back,” she says again, and this time she turns away, leaving him behind her. She continues down the path but it takes only moments for the sound of his footsteps to follow. She bites down on the inside of her cheek but it doesn’t stem the anger as much as she’d like it to. She just...doesn’t understand.

Turning, she faces him again and he’s with her again. They stand across from each other in an empty forest and Revan’s voice is too loud, too harsh when she asks, “ _What_ is going on?”

“I don’t know!” he yells. “I wanted you to leave me the hell alone and now that you are, I’m losing my mind. I still kriffing care about you, and I hate it. I hate being stuck with this half-version of you.”

“Well I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be. In case you didn’t realize, it’s _not my fault_!” she yells back. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“I know you didn’t! But it’s what you got, and it’s what I got. It’s a bad ending, Revan, and you know what? We deserve it.”

“For Force sake,” she says. “What am I supposed to do about it? I don’t even know what happened!”

“There’s nothing you can do!”

“Then what do you want, Malak? What do you honestly, truly want?”

He takes his usual break from answering but Revan’s not giving up this time. She keeps her eyes fixed on him, refusing to say a word, until he finally responds, “It doesn’t matter now--you didn’t give me what I wanted when it did.”

How many more times will he throw that at her? “Do you still want me to kill you? We can make that happen, you schutta.”

“No,” he says immediately, and she doesn’t think she imagines the way his eyes widen marginally. “I don’t.”

“Then what do you want?” she asks, bordering on begging.

“I want the old you back!”

And _there it is_. The truth takes a moment to sink in, leaving Revan’s heart to slow as the weight of it hangs over her. Her voice is much quieter when she asks, “Then why aren’t you helping me?”

He seems to take a step back as well, his shoulders drop and the harsh line of his gaze softens. “How will telling you about the past fix what the Jedi did to you?”

“I don’t know, but at least it’s _something_. Maybe it’ll have meaning and maybe it won’t, but I can’t tell without your help.”

“I don’t want that to be my responsibility. I don’t want to talk about the past, it was _awful_. Force, I hated you so much at the end. We destroyed each other, Revan. Why would you want to remember that?”

“Because it’s still my life. Those are still my actions.” She takes a breath. “Look, do you hate me now?”

“No.”

“What would happen if I got my memories back? If I remembered everything that happened?”  

He looks away. “I don’t know. If you remembered the things you’ve done, then you might--”

“Might what?” Revan prompts.

“I don’t know,” he says again. “Things might go back to the way they were. Either good or bad, I never expected to live this long, and I certainly didn’t expect to be here with you. This is--torture. This is hell. I don’t know what I’m doing and I have nothing left, so. What can I say? That I miss you? You’re standing right in front of me but it’s not you. And then I think to myself, how does she feel? Is she as angry as I am? How can she be?”

“How can I not be angry?” she asks. “We’re just...angry about different things.”

“Lucky us,” he says.

“Malak, I’m sorry.” It feels necessary to say it again, after all of this. It feels necessary because it probably is necessary, because she doesn’t even know the scope of how much she’s hurt him in life.

But he just shakes his head. “Can we please go back now?”

She feels herself soften, watches the way his eyes are pleading with her. It’s sad, isn’t it? That this is where they are? This is what they’re left with and it isn’t much. Maybe she is lucky that she doesn’t remember, that she doesn’t have to be here with the knowledge of all that happened and know that everything went wrong and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Maybe she condemned Malak to a fate worse than hers.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “We can go back.”

It’s just not the same, though, is it? That when they turn around, they’re following the same path home but it looks completely different. And something in her chest aches, something large and heavy and she can’t do anything about it--wouldn’t even know where to begin. All she can do is watch the dark shapes of the trees and listen to the sound of the forest stirring--wild and alive.

It’s the complete opposite of her and Malak. Neither wild nor alive.

And they don’t talk anymore. She doesn’t know what to say and she assumes the same from him. She’s exhausted from arguing, exhausted from the emotion of it all. From him, from Jolee, from this whole damn planet. She’d just--she’d like to see the _sun_.

“I think,” and she doesn’t know why she’s saying this aloud, “I’m tired of the dark.”

He hums a sound that might be him agreeing. Even now he’s shadowed. She can make out the line of his nose, up over his brow and down to his shoulders and his chest, but it doesn’t feel like the whole of him. It’s just pieces of him, and she watches for too long, doesn’t take her eyes away even when she should.

There’s just something about him. Something she can’t put a name to.

“Do you really miss me?” she asks.

“Of course that’s what you take away from all of this,” he mutters, but his brows push together as he looks down. Where his expression was hard to read before, this one is quite obvious. He says, “You were my best friend, Rev. I’ve known you all my life.”

 _Rev_. She swallows hard. That ache in her chest gets just a little bigger, a little tougher to bear, but she pulls herself together enough to ask, “Really? Your whole life?”

He only nods.

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to...”

“No,” he answers immediately. “I think it’s um, it’s pretty clear I haven’t figured out what I’m doing.”

Revan smiles. It isn’t happy but it feels honest. “Will you let me know when you do?”

“Yeah,” he says absently, and then he looks at her. He fully looks at her and she feels like they might have some semblance of a chance at figuring this out. It’s strange, because neither of them have hope, but it doesn’t feel completely hopeless. He meets her gaze in the dark and they walk a little slower, two broken people who are broken in different ways, but Malak squints at her and says, “You’ll be the first to know.”

For now, it’s enough.


	8. Chapter 8

In the morning Jolee explains himself.

In the morning, Jolee says, “You were a pair of foolish kids when we first met, which was all well and good until you started asking about the Star Map. I knew it was all an act to get an old man to help you out, but I let you believe you were fooling me.”

Revan stares at him, her hands warm where they wrap around her cup of tea. “Why?”

“The Force was working in an unusual way with you two,” he answers, and hums to himself. “I couldn’t predict the end result but knew enough not to interfere. It almost worked, too, but you saw through me by the end of your visit. Sharp as a whip, you were, but never obvious about it. It’s what made you dangerous.”  
  
“And what about Malak?” she asks, trying not to dwell on the word _dangerous_. “What was he like?”  
  
“Believe it or not, I preferred his company over yours,” he says with a short laugh, and Revan works up a smile at that. Jolee continues, “He was charming, always asking too many damn questions. I had my fun talking to him about the wroshyr trees and my garden. It was a good distraction.”  
  
Some part of her aches for that man, the one she’ll never really know, the one she pushed to become what he was, at the end. She doesn’t know when that darkness started, when their friendship began to fray. Frowning down at her hands, she asks quietly, “And what about the two of us? What were we like together?”  
  
Jolee sighs, and when she looks at him, one corner of his lip turns up at the edge. “Revan and Malak. That says it all, doesn’t it? Thick as thieves, you were. Anyone could tell that instantly, but beyond that--I don’t know if I can say. An old man’s perspective isn’t a strong foundation for any truth you wish to know about yourself.”

“Do you think I will? Know the truth, I mean.”

“I hope you do, kid,” he answers. “I really hope you do.”

\--

It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? To think that someday she might recover what’s been lost. To think that perhaps not everything will always feel so far away, out of reach, and painfully lacking. The hope of restoration, the desire to know the truth--it’s all she has left, isn’t it?

And sure it’s a nice thought, but she knows, deep down, that that’s all it ever might be. Even deeper down, she knows that Malak is right. It wouldn’t change anything. Knowing the truth won’t turn them back into those two kids, it won’t erase what they’ve done.

Deeper still, she knows they have only so much time left to figure this out.

\--

Some nights wear on her.

Some nights stretch on for hours upon endless hours--weary and grating and exhausting. She attempts to sleep every now and then, when meditation doesn’t feel like it’s enough for her. She lays her body down, starkly aware of the silence of the room, and forces herself to keep her eyes closed when all she wants is to stare at the hatched patterns of the ceiling.

It never matters, anyway. Trying to sleep is just wasting time. The minutes slip by as she remains awake, when she could’ve been doing something else, when she knows she’d rather be doing something else. Trying to sleep feels like she’s pretending to be normal, and it feels a lot like she’s lying to herself.

Like tonight--tonight she lays awake and stays that way when she’d normally give up. Her blanket is tucked tight into her fist against her body, and her mind drifts to a place where she can entertain senseless ideas. She lets her thoughts come alive, and imagines the door to her room opening. She imagines someone behind it, doesn’t give them a name, doesn’t give them a face, but she imagines them still and she imagines them coming closer. Her eyes remain closed, so she can almost pretend she feels their hand brush her hair out of her face, feels the warmth of their body as they lay beside her, as they rest their arm over her. She imagines being held close--being safe.

She stays like that for a long time, and when she opens her eyes the room is a little brighter but she still hasn’t slept. The emptiness around her feels bigger than it did, and it leaves her lonelier, perhaps, than she was before. That’s her fault.

As she sits up, her thoughts turn towards her absent mother, or rather the idea of her that keeps her company. Revan’s just comforting herself, isn’t she? She must be the most pathetic creature in this galaxy, if this is how she copes. What did Malak say? _You’ve never been fine_. What did he mean by that, and what is she supposed to do about it?

Was she like this before?

That’s not something she can answer. She pushes her hands through her hair and kicks the blankets off of her body, suddenly feeling quite suffocated by them. Her mind briefly considers meditating, but she feels too alert and unfocused, and instead leaves the room.

There’s a single light on in the kitchen, and though it’s not bright, it’s enough to outline Malak’s shape at the kitchen table. He’s reading a datapad, and his face is lit up in shades of color, stretching over his defined features. In front of him is a cup of tea, still steaming, and he glances up the second she closes the door behind her.

“Hey,” she says quietly, aware that Jolee is probably still asleep.

“Hi,” he says in return, and if he looks a little surprised at her presence, he hides it quickly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She almost laughs, considering her situation, but settles for a smile and joins him at the table. “Something like that. You?”

“Woke up early.”

“I see.” It’s not nearly early enough to justify waking up and staying awake, but. “And the tea?”

“Oh,” he says, and looks down at it as though he’s just realizing it’s there. His features turn a little sheepish as he says, “I don’t drink it, obviously. It’s just nice to have around.”

“I think that might be the first thing we agree on.”

“Do you want it?”

“Are you sure?”

He puts down the datapad and pushes the mug towards her. She thanks him in a murmur before putting it to her lips. It’s warm and comforting, and when she sets it down she smiles at Malak, but isn't sure what to say. Everything’s always an argument between them and for once this feels like something nice.

But surprisingly, he speaks up. “Can I ask you something?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he says, and it’s a little exasperated but he doesn’t look upset. “Before you knew who you were, what were your memories like? You must’ve had some version of the past.”

“No, the Council gave me false memories,” she answers, thinking back on her life before. “They were nice, considering that they weren’t real. I was a soldier, which makes sense, I guess. I never liked to dwell on that, but before that I lived on a farm, and I love those memories. I still think about them sometimes, if I’m honest.”

“A farm?” Malak asks, and his whole expression turns into something else. His brows come down and she doesn’t know if he realizes it, but he leans in closer.

It sets her nerves on edge.

“Um, yeah,” she says, and feels a little funny but goes on to say, “It wasn’t that big, but I think the whole planet must’ve been farmland. I remember a father and son, I don’t know if they were related to me or not--I believe they were--but the father stays on my mind a lot more.”

She glances at Malak warily, and when he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “It’s funny, I can still remember the way his skin was worn by the sun. I can still see the lines around his eyes, especially when he smiled, and that makes it feel real, you know? I have this memory of him, we were standing out in one of the fields, I have no idea what kind of crop it was, but the sun was that perfect shade of gold, and I looked over at him. He took his hat off and put it on my head and gave me one of those smiles, and I thought to myself: this is perfect. Of all the memories the Council could’ve given to me, I’m glad it was something good.”

But Malak shakes his head, slow in a way that makes her stomach drop, and says, “Averre.”

“What?” she asks immediately. Her heart races and she sits up straighter, tilts her body towards his. “Why did you say that?”

“That was their name,” he answers. “The farmers.”

Her mouth just drops open, and she asks, “How did you know?”

“Because they were real.” His voice doesn’t sound angry, but it’s harsh, and it takes Revan a long, long moment to let his words sink in.

“How? What?” She can’t catch up to her own brain. “What?”

“The Council--” and he looks so upset. “They can’t leave things alone, can they? It must’ve been easier to make it seem like...Force.”

“Malak, _please_.”

“After we were knighted you were sent on a mission to Taanab,” he answers finally, and he looks her in the eye. “There, you were able to work directly with the farmers. The Jedi were involved with their politics and offered them protection. You...hated it at first, but you lived with a man named Jarek Averre and his family, and they were good people.”

“They were real,” she murmurs, and she honestly doesn't know what to do with that. It’s not what she was expecting to hear this morning. It’s like time has slowed to a stop, and all she can think about are the faces of Jarek and Sarin, and know that she was there, they were real, and the Council hid them in plain sight. She looks to Malak, who’s watching her carefully, and though his features are wary, he looks troubled. She asks, “Did you know them?”

His gaze falls from hers, back down to the table, but he nods. “Yeah, I visited you a few times while you were there.”

“Where were you?” she asks, and his eyes snap back to hers and she scrunches her nose. “Too much?”

But he surprises her. He takes a breath, leans back in his seat, and says, “I was on Coruscant.”

 _Is this where things change?_ she asks her mother. _Was it our argument the other night, or the fact that I remembered something on my own?_

 _Do you really remember it? Or did the Council leave it behind?_ her mother replies.

_Does it matter?_

Her mother doesn’t answer, but Malak continues, “We’d been training together up until that point, but we could tell the Council wanted to put a few planets between us. My plan was always to further my Guardian training with a master program on Coruscant, and they decided to put you in a low stakes situation a good distance away. You weren’t happy.”

“I don’t imagine I would be,” she says. “So, what? They were trying to keep me out of the way, or were they afraid of giving me a more serious task?”

He shakes his head. “They were fools. They never understood you.”

She stumbles over a small laugh, thinking about the way they treated her on Dantooine. “Sometimes they still don’t.”

“Well, destroying your memories and trying to control you says a lot about them.”

“Not all of my memories,” she says, and finally there’s hope in her voice that isn’t unfounded. “Will you tell me about them? Jarek’s family?”

And so he does. He looks to her and starts to tell her about the Averre’s, about their two sons: Sarin, who she remembers, and Kalen, who she doesn’t. Their fields stretched on as far as the eye could see, but their house barely had enough room for all of them. They had a hound that would lay quietly at Revan’s feet, but would always jump up onto Malak when he visited. He tells her about the difficulties the farmers faced, both with the government and piracy, and how her reluctance to work on a diplomatic mission became an absolute fire for helping these people.

But that’s the thing. They’re mostly secondhand stories. Malak only visited her a few times, so his knowledge on the subject comes from what she told him when she went to see him on Coruscant. She has to admit to herself that she likes the idea of the two of them still staying close after they were knighted, visiting each other even though they were separated. It’s one thing to be told that they were friends, but it’s another to have knowledge of what that friendship might’ve looked like.  

Some part of him turns softer as he tells her about it. He looks more alive, even under this shadowed light. The morning chill makes her shiver as she listens, but doesn’t dare complain. It finally feels like they’re sharing something good, she can hear it in the sound of his voice as it moves over the words, as he relates little pieces. And she knows it first came from her, because he often starts his sentences with _I think_ , or _You told me that_...

His words drift off, though, and Revan sits in the quiet beside him. It’s comforting, somehow. To be here with him, to let her thoughts rest on something stronger than the unknown. When she looks over at him he’s already looking at her, and it’s rather unbelievable that they’re here together, after all of it, and so little remains.

“So what happened to them?” she finally asks.

“What do you mean?”  

“The story has to end somewhere,” she answers. “What happened?”

But something harder steals over his face. His brows come down and he shakes his head. “It’s not a good ending.”

“Why?” she asks, her heart breaking at the thought.

“Some other time,” he answers, but he reaches out and touches her hand with his. “I should probably get the fire started, Jolee will be up soon.”

 _No_. He takes his hand back and she doesn’t want this to stop. She wants to immerse herself in this other world, where she has a best friend and a pseudo family. Even if it didn’t end well, she doesn’t want to come back to Kashyyyk. She wants the conversation to keep going, and her mind races but finally settles on asking, “Was there a wedding?”

The look of shock on his face betrays his normally cool exterior. His wide eyes watch her carefully, and his voice is low when he asks, “You remember a wedding?”

“Yes,” she says as she nods. “It’s--it’s weird. It was one of the first memories I discounted after you told me my real identity, just because there are so many missing pieces. But what I do have--it feels so vivid. So I just...I have to wonder if it really happened.”

“Do you...” he starts but it doesn’t go anywhere. He looks away, and Revan senses something that is different than anything else she’s ever felt from him. It’s a strange mixture of emotions, a wide arrangement of grief and fear and hope and something that aches. Oh...his whole heart is aching and Revan doesn’t know what she’s done, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to finish his sentence.

So she guesses that he’d want to know what she remembers. “I remember--it had been raining in the morning, and everyone was worried it would ruin the ceremony, but it ended up being the most beautiful day. I was sitting in the back, and she was so beautiful walking down the aisle--she looked like a dream--but something made me look at the groom’s face. Was that Kalen? Sarin was next to him, but I just remember how overcome with emotion he was. He looked at her like I’d never seen anyone look at someone before.”

Malak leans down, putting his face in his hands. Revan feels all worry come over her, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, though his voice betrays him. “Keep going.”

She looks at him, her gaze wary, but continues: “My stronger memories are of the reception. Even now, I can still see the tables laid out, right down to the fold of the napkin and placement of the silverware. That’s what I’m saying--it’s remarkably vivid. I remember how it felt as the sun set and they lit all these lanterns, and there was this hum of wildlife in the background that you could hear even when the band was playing. Everything felt so perfect. It’s like I have all the pictures of that day, but none of the substance.”

Malak hasn’t moved. His chin is still tucked against his chest with his head in his large hands. What did she say wrong? What happened at that wedding?

“Malak...” she calls softly, and it’s enough to get him to shift, lifting his head but still he doesn’t look at her.

“Anything else?” he asks, and it gives her the feeling that he’s looking for something specific and she’s failing to say it.

“You want me to remember something,” she states, looking at him though he won’t return the gesture.

“No,” he answers, and sucks in a quick breath before he finally looks over at her. His eyes are sharp but she knows he’s not telling her the truth.

“What happened?” she asks again, but this time she narrows her gaze, suspicious.

And then, to her surprise, he starts to laugh. He genuinely, honestly, laughs, and Revan doesn’t think she’s heard the sound quite like this before. He laughs and shakes his head, turning away from her. “I’ve said it before, but this time I really don’t think you’d understand, nor do I think you’d want to.”

“I hate when you say that,” she mutters as he gets up. She watches him set up at the fireplace, half-interested, half-upset while he gets the kindling ready.

“Do you ever stop to think,” he calls out behind him, “that I knew you then, and I know you now, so I might have an idea of what’s in your best interest?”

“Yeah and a month ago you were trying to kill me, so.”

He laughs again. Revan isn’t sure how she feels about the sound. She watches him work, sitting back and lighting the fire, and he says, “Sometimes it hits me how absolutely bizarre this whole situation is, and sometimes it’s too strange to be upset about it.”

“Have I said something to upset you?” she asks.

But as soon as Malak goes to answer, Jolee’s door opens and both of their attention is drawn to him. His features are still sleepy, his eyes half opened and his robe a little messy, but he looks between the two of them and says, “You kids are too damn loud for this early in the morning.”

“I thought old people liked getting up early,” Malak says, and when she looks over at him he winks at her, so she thinks maybe this morning was a positive thing, even if their conversation is unfinished. She isn’t sure, but it feels easier, at least.

“Looks like sonny’s got a sense of humor in the morning,” Jolee says, and he looks to Revan as well. “Who would’ve known?”

Revan just shakes her head at the two of them. “I’m going to put on the kettle.”

\--

The thing is, if she’d known what she was really asking Malak, then maybe she wouldn’t have asked it.

If she’d known that her hand had been fixed firmly in his during the ceremony, then maybe she wouldn’t have talked about it so lightly. If she’d known that while she was watching the bride, he leaned towards her and whispered, _look at him_ , then maybe she wouldn’t have told Malak about the expression on the groom’s face.

Maybe if she’d known that at that reception, if she could reach into her memory and just turn her head, she’d see Malak sitting beside her, then maybe she wouldn’t have described it the way she did. If she could reach into that memory, she’d see them dance close, too close, and see their eyes alight with a desire that burned deeper than it ever had before.

She’d see them leave, his arm around her. She’d see them whisper and giggle as they slipped into her room, their hands on each other, questions in their eyes as they crossed a boundary they couldn’t uncross.

If she’d just known the truth then, if she could see what that day really meant, then maybe she wouldn’t have placed it before him and asked him to explain it.

\--

She’ll realize this later, but it doesn’t change what she’s done.


	9. Chapter 9

Revan forgot how cathartic smoking can be.

Once Jolee and Malak left for the day, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes she’d hidden in her room, came outside, and climbed a tree right outside the hut. She sits on the lowest branch, her back against the massive trunk, and closes her eyes as she inhales warm smoke, which settles over her and blankets her thoughts.

The thing is, she thought she’d be happier after finding out she remembered something real. She thought she’d feel different, perhaps more encouraged, but she feels...empty. It’s not something tangible, not something she could begin to explain, just that some part of her has shut down in response to knowing the truth, and it’s heavy on her mind.

When she thinks about the golden plains of Taanab, the smile lines around Jarek’s eyes, the way Malak said, _It’s not a good ending_ , she feels like her whole heart’s going to beat out of her chest.

Even her mother won’t say anything, which isn’t surprising, but Revan feels like she needs her right now. When she opens her eyes, the world is hazy and distant, and even the lights of Jolee’s hut look duller. She blinks heavily against the dark, and though it’s still early in the day, the shadows loom larger and larger as she thinks about Malak cradling his head in his hands.

So, what did she expect? That uncovering the past would change something? That it would make her feel like she owns some part of it? It’s just not true. There isn’t any peace in knowing that the Council purposefully did this to her.

On her next inhale, her mind drifts back to Bastila. The girl who seems infinitely older than she is. The girl who, when Malak’s unconscious body was brought on board the _Hawk_ , gripped Revan’s elbow tightly and said, _I can’t be around him_.

The Council had used her too. The Council took a promising young Jedi and made her responsible for the fate of the Republic. They made her responsible for Revan and her memories, they made her take on the weight of their fears and when it broke her, they dared Revan to destroy her.

She’s beginning to think her past self was right about them. They sit back while the rest of the galaxy wars with itself. Wisdom is useless without action, after all, and they’d rather watch it all die and say, _we would have done things differently_.

But these are bitter thoughts brought on by the bitter taste of smoke, brought on by the bitter idea that Revan could’ve died in battle but instead her body was used against her will.

 _Malak didn’t make me fall to the dark side,_ Bastila had explained _, it was there the whole time_.

Unnerving, to say the least, to listen to Bastila’s normally confident voice so shaken, to see her eyes: haunted. Perhaps it’s what inspired Revan to move so quickly after the Star Forge. Malak still hadn’t awoken by the time Canderous left with the promise to take Bastila to Coruscant and to find the helm of Mandalore.

Perhaps it was what made Revan rethink involving the Council in the decision of Malak’s fate.

It’s some time later that she hears Jolee and Malak’s steps on the path below her. She’s already lit a second cigarette, blowing smoke in a long, steady stream as she she leans over and watches as their attention draws up towards her.

Jolee, ever himself, just shakes his head. “I’m not healing you if you fall out of that tree.”

“Good thing I won’t ask you to,” she returns, as if it’s inevitable that she will, in fact, fall out of the tree.

Jolee grumbles but grins in that way that he does, like he’s doing it against his will. She watches him reach over and clap Malak on the back before he turns towards the hut and heads inside. Malak himself stays where he is, watching her curiously.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, nodding at her hand where her cigarette still burns.

Her shoulders slump as she leans forward, raising a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Funny,” she says. “What, do you have a problem with it?”

“No, I’m jealous,” he says, and his eyes crinkle in that way that they do when he smiles, when he needs to show that he’s happy in a way most people don’t have to think about. It sets some kind of feeling in her chest, something unusual and unexpected.

What’s changed since this morning?

And she almost makes a joke, almost comments on his jaw, but shuts her mouth the second she goes to say it. She still doesn’t know what happened, but figures it’s safe to assume that it’s her fault. When he smiles at her like that, she doesn’t want to be the reason it stops.

So instead she asks, “Will you help me down?”

She doesn’t wait for his response, though she notices he draws closer to the trunk of the tree. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and leans forward, wrapping her arms around the branch. Scooting her body down, she eases herself over the side, swinging her legs down so she’s half-hanging, halfway there.

“You’re ridiculous,” Malak says, but he wraps his arms around her middle, allowing her to let go safely. His grip is almost too strong, given the way the air leaves her lungs as he effectively catches her, body to body, but it doesn’t last. He sets her down in front of him and she immediately looks up, their faces close, and has to catch her breath.

Though it’s only a second, she can almost make out the blue of his eyes from this proximity. They both take a step back, putting distance between them, and Revan drops the cigarette into the damp grass before covering it with her foot.

When she looks back up at him he’s watching her carefully, his skin half-shadowed, half-lit by the warm light of the hut. It’s funny how at times he can be so easy to read, and at other times he’s so...opaque. It changes in a moment, and even after these few weeks she isn’t used to it.

“It’s still early,” he says. “Do you want to take a walk?”

The question throws her off simply because Malak’s never quite shown an interest in spending time alone with her. It feels like every interaction they’ve had has been accidental, and it must show in her expression because he tilts his head. Before he can question her though, she offers him a small smile and says, “Okay.”

She lets him make the first move, guiding their direction. He seems to have an idea of where he wants to go and she lets him. They don’t talk for a few minutes at least, both of them watching the ground as they step along the beaten down path. It’s about as warm as it gets during the day, so afternoon must be creeping in on them. Telling time on the forest floor isn’t easy, but she thinks she’s getting better at it.

“How are you doing?” Malak asks as he holds a vine out of the way.

Revan ducks underneath it, glancing up at him for a moment, at his earnest expression, and nods. “I’m okay.”

“Just okay?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and shrugs. “I’m figuring it out. This morning was...heavy.”

He makes a sound that might be him agreeing, but she isn’t completely sure. She focuses on the path in front of her, and she doesn’t know why, but she wants to explain herself to him, doesn’t feel right about letting him come to his own conclusion.

So she continues, “It’s one thing to want to know more about my past. It’s another to know that the Council purposefully gave me real memories, leading me to believe they’re false.”

“It makes sense, though,” Malak comments. “It must’ve been easier to leave what’s already there.”

“Sure it’s easier, but at what cost?”

“I’d say that’s a rather prevalent question, considering.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I just...I want to be happy about remembering something, but knowing what the Council’s done makes it rather difficult.”

“Are you angry about that?” he asks.

She hums, thinking about it. Is she angry? Maybe. If she is, there’s no enthusiasm in it. There’s nothing driving that anger to any violent response, no violent action. It’s quiet. It’s there. It’s sitting in her chest with no desire to move, just to rest and _feel_.

Has this happened before?

 _Malak didn’t make me fall to the dark side, it was there the whole time_.

“Yes...but I don’t want to be,” she finally answers, looking over at Malak. There’s concern written on his features, mostly just in his eyes, and it’s remarkable how much he’s changed since she saved him. Sometimes she tries to imagine what he was like before, when his skin bore marks of his darkness and shadows crept in around his eyes, around that narrowed yellow gaze.

But it gets harder to remember when faced with this version of him.

“I’m--” he starts, but pauses, and when she looks over at him his brow is pulled down. When he glances over at her, it softens. “Can we sit down for a moment?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking around them. Up the path there are the remains of a fallen tree, its trunk low enough that they can both settle onto it. Malak sits first, and Revan angles herself close to him, their thighs nearly touching.

He keeps his gaze steady on her, though she can sense his nerves. Those clear eyes watch her but she turns her focus to her lap, to her fumbling hands that rest there. His voice is quiet when he says, “I’m sorry.”

She feels her breath still, her lips pulling into a frown as she looks back up to meet his eyes. “For what?”

“For the things you do remember,” he explains, blinking heavily for a moment. “For bombing Taris, for sending Calo Nord after you, for the attempts on your life...what I did to Bastila. I’m ashamed of it all. That’s the thing about coming back from the dark side, you have to live with what it inspired you to do. And I know I did these things willingly, but I can’t tell you how much I regret them now.”

“Malak,” she starts, but he shakes his head.

“What I really want is to apologize for the things you don’t remember, but I don’t think it would mean anything to you right now. But someday I will, and I’ll help you get there if you still want me to.”

She swallows, overwhelmed. Her eyes can’t seem to leave his, there’s something more to all of this, but can’t seem to allow herself to think about it. All she can do is nod, take a heavy breath, and feel the closeness of him. To be this close, it’s like they’re touching even as their bodies remain separate. But then Malak reaches over and covers her hand with his, just resting there, just to say, _I’m here._

“What’s changed?” she asks, because this isn’t what he’s been. With her. She thinks of Mission telling her about their conversation: _He understood...he apologized..._

Malak sighs. “I can’t keep comparing these versions of you when it’s still just you, Rev. I’m angry at the Council too, and I’m tired of being angry at you. You’ve always been the most important person in my life, but you’re also the person I’ve damaged the most, and I’m sorry.” He tilts his head for a moment. “Also, this morning Jolee called me an ass.”

“Sounds about right,” she says, and smiles thinly. “You talked about this with Jolee?”

He draws his hand away and for a half second she reaches for it before quickly returning her hand to her lap. He doesn’t notice, his head turns down and he takes a breath. “I talk about everything with him. He’s been, uh, helping me a lot. It’s good to have someone who can listen without any personal stake or judgment.”

“Makes sense,” she says, and she takes a moment to try and process this. After all their fighting, after this whole struggle, he’s finally giving in and yet she almost doesn’t want him to. Is that messed up?

Maybe right now just isn’t the right time for this.

“We should head back,” she says, and if there’s confusion that masks over Malak’s features, she ignores it as she stand up, brushing off her robes.

“Are you sure?” he asks, even as he stands as well.

She hums, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s just a lot to process, Malak.”

“Right.”

She watches as he seems to accept this, nodding and turning his attention away from her and to the path that’ll lead them back. Revan, on the other hand, can’t seem to take her eyes off of him. Even in the shifting light she keeps stealing glances as they move through the woods, his skin still pale against the dark trees and the mist that always bleeds grey bordering on blue.

Part of her wants to understand the sudden shift in perspective, and part of her wants another cigarette to drown out her thoughts.

Because when it comes down to it, after all of this she doesn’t know if she wants to ask about the past. Because maybe he was right, that him telling her about it wouldn’t make it real, not in the way that remembering did this morning.

Her stomach pulls at the thought. It’s a heavy weight, and she’s conflicted because she wants to remember on her own but her curiosity pulls at the seams of her mind. She wants to know so badly and at the same time she doesn’t want to know at all.

She knows this doesn’t make sense, but in the end her curiosity wins out.

“Malak,” she says quietly. Neither of them have spoken for some time, but she can tell Malak’s as deep in thought as she is because it takes him a moment to look over at her. “How old are you?”

“Same age as you,” he answers, but judging by the look on his face they both know it’s not actually an answer.

“Are you testing me?”

“Are you telling me you don’t know how old you are?”

“Of course I know how old I am,” she says, but pauses because she’s only _pretty sure_. She doesn’t know if she can trust the Council, if they kept her believing that she’s the same age that she actually is. It doesn’t seem like something they’d lie about, but the last thing she wants to do is get this wrong. She ventures, “I’m twenty-nine?”

Looking to him for confirmation, she feels a small sense of relief when he nods. There’s something wary in his expression, though, as he says, “So this is where we’re starting.”

“I was just making sure.”

“Anything else you want to clarify at this moment in time?”

Revan shakes her head, but she takes a step closer to him and bumps her shoulder against his. Offering him a reassuring smile, she says, “Maybe not right now, but be prepared for about a thousand questions tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” he says, and his eyes crinkle in that way again. This time it sends warmth through her chest, but she merely presses her lips together and they walk back to the hut in the quiet, with just the sounds of the forest and their footsteps between them.

\--

That night Revan has dinner alone with Jolee.

They sit at the table, another serving of soup between them, and the fire is dying out but neither of them make a move to tend to it. Malak retired early, claiming to be tired. It makes sense, Revan supposes, considering how early they both were up this morning. She’d probably feel tired too if she could sleep, but instead she sips at the still-too-hot soup, and talks to Jolee.

Which is all well and good until he says, “Freyyr contacted me today. He said he’d like to meet with me up in Rwookrrorro.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about,” he reassures, but he shakes his head. “I used to meet with him regularly before I left, so it’s been some time. If anything, I can find out where the galaxy is at in the aftermath. We’ve been completely in the dark.”

“Don’t you think we should be worried?” she asks. “I thought Carth, at least, would check in by now.”

“We’ll see,” Jolee mutters.

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.” He picks up his spoon again and goes about stirring his soup. “I should be gone for a few days. It’s also a good opportunity to get some supplies.”

She almost asks him if he needs her to go with him, but thinks better of it. They wouldn’t be able to take Malak with them, and she feels uneasy at the thought of leaving him alone. She glances at the door, even uneasier at the thought of being alone with him.

When she turns back to Jolee he gives her a knowing look, but Revan shakes her head and lifts her spoon, blowing steam instead of smoke.

 _Something’s going to change_ , her mother says, and as much as she wants to, Revan can’t refute that.


	10. Chapter 10

Revan stands back as she watches Jolee and Malak load up the basket that’ll take him to the canopy. She’s stood back all morning--she silently watched Jolee eat a quick breakfast, watched Malak stumble out of their room, bleary eyed but insistent on carrying Jolee’s things, much to Jolee’s disapproval. She walked behind them on their way here, listening to snippets of their conversation, the soft crunch of the grass under her feet, and her own breathing.

It’s always interesting to watch the two of them together. She likes the side of Malak that Jolee brings out, one more alive and interested in the world. One who gestures while he talks, his hands moving as he explains one thing or another--Jolee nodding patiently next to him. It makes her wonder if she could’ve ever brought out this side of Malak, likes to think that maybe she did, wonders if they could ever get back to that point.

_I’ll help you get there if you still want me to._

There’s something about that statement that puts her on edge even as it reassures her. It doesn’t feel like enough now, to just accept his help without some kind of fight. It doesn’t feel like enough to have the past explained to her when she knows these memories still might exist in her mind.

It’s not enough to know that there is very little time left, and if she doesn’t ask, she might never find out about any of it.

It’s still early in the morning and the forest floor sits in foggy grey green shadows, the light misty and halfway there. There’s a chill Revan can’t seem to shake, no matter how tight she folds her crossed arms together and hugs them against her chest, watching Jolee maneuver the ropes in the lift’s basket.

“Try not to destroy my home,” he calls out. Malak’s stepped back now and stands next to her, his eyes set in a grin, and Revan wonders why she’s watching him when Jolee’s the one leaving.

“What, you don’t trust us?” he asks, and Revan finally turns her attention to Jolee, who has a sly smile on his lips and shakes his head.

“Absolutely not,” he answers, but he’s activating the pulley mechanism and the basket lifts from the ground. It’s heavy and slow, but her and Malak stay to watch it disappear into the mist of the wroshyr trees, dark but still there.

Revan can feel Malak looking at her but keeps her eyes fixed to the point where the basket shrouds into nothing at all. It still isn’t that high up--that would take too long--but it’s impossible to make out in the haze.

She feels Malak’s hand touch her shoulder, just briefly, but it gets her attention to shift to him. To shift _up_ to him. His eyes are calm but curious, the blue of them cold in the misty light. It doesn’t seem fair, that he’s able to stay so steady, that none of this seems to phase him.

 _You assume too much_ , her mother says.

Revan almost shakes her head but remains still. _Just tell me why I feel like this._

This. It’s staring at someone she once knew so well, who knows her just as well in return. Someone who knows more about her than she does, and she wants to understand what that means but the only answer is the way meeting his gaze makes her feel--like he knows her, the truth of her, and isn’t afraid of it. He’s seen the worst of her and still he chooses to stand by her side, and isn’t that the worst part? That her past self has exploited this very thing that brings her comfort as much as it makes her hands want to shake?

“Hey,” he says, and her attention snaps back to him. It must’ve been only seconds but it feels like they’ve been looking at each other for a long while. As she shivers she watches the soft shadows shift over his features, and she feels like she loses track of everything else.

“Hi,” she says, trying to keep her voice normal. There’s no reason for her to be uneasy, but here she is. “Just you and me, huh?”

“You and me,” he repeats, finally looking away, back towards the path that they came from. “Want to head back?”

Her body answers for her, shivering again before she nods. Her hands clutch the sleeves at her wrists, pulling them tightly around her fingers as they step away from where the basket was. She glances up once more for good measure, but Jolee is well and truly gone, and will be for a few days, at least.

Her and Malak fall into step. It’s the most familiar thing they can do now--walking together--and Revan doesn’t know whether to chase the quiet away or try to think of something to fill it with.

But Malak makes the choice for her, asking, “Do you think he knows?”

“Who?”

He looks down at her, his expression hidden in that way that he does sometimes, when he looks at her and all she can read from him is a forced blankness. She doesn’t understand, but Malak sucks in a sharp breath and says, “The wookiee. Do you think he knows about me?”

“Freyyr?” she asks. “Probably.”

When she looks up at him he’s no longer looking at her. His head faces forward and while his expression has changed, she still can’t read it. Maybe at one point she could’ve. Maybe at one point she had him memorized, because she thinks that’s something she might’ve done before.

It’s something she’s found herself doing with her friends lately. She tucks away these pieces of them: the way Mission tilts her head to the side when she’s in thought, how Juhani always closes her eyes and lifts her face towards the sun after a long flight. Even the line of Carth’s brow every time he lands the ship, though she knows how simple and routine it is for him.

It’s the little things about people that stick, and Revan wonders what it was about Malak back when she knew him. Now? It’s the way he absently touches the edge of his metal jaw where it meets his neck, it’s the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners when he’s smiling, the way he stretches his arms over his head in the morning, his hands scraping against the ceiling of the hut.

Now--it’s the way he shortens his strides so they walk at the same pace. Now it’s the way he asks, “Are you worried?”

It’s a good question.

“No,” she answers. “Not about Freyyr.”

“What are you worried about?”

She takes a deep breath. “Carth said he would contact me as soon as he found out anything. So either he hasn’t had a reason to reach out, or he’s been trying and we haven’t been receiving.”

“Do you think he might’ve contacted the wookiees?”

“Perhaps.” It’s a thought that’s been bothering her. If Carth’s been trying to reach her and hasn’t been able to, then she’s blind to what’s happening out there. If he’s been trying to warn her, then she’ll have no idea what’s coming.

Malak doesn’t say anything for a little bit, but then, “What do you expect him to find?”

She almost laughs at that but it’s not funny and it wouldn’t be right. Instead she shakes her head, tucking her arms in against her chest, and says, “Nothing. I don’t know if there’s a way out of this, but one way or another the Council will find out about you, and they’re going to be pissed.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, and this time she gives a half laugh. “I feel like I’m waiting for the right plan to come along, so hopefully that happens before they finally figure out that you’re still alive.”

“Wait, you don’t have a plan?” he asks, genuine confusion in his voice.

She rolls her eyes. “I thought you said you knew me.”

“Okay, fine. So you have a plan--probably several plans--but not the right one. What happens if they come here and take me away? Imprison me? Execute me?”

“Jedi don’t execute their prisoners,” she recites even as a shock of anger surges through her chest. Malak looks at her and she knows what he’s thinking. It’s what she’s thinking. There are always exceptions to the rule, and she doesn’t trust that the Jedi would have mercy for Malak the same way they did for her. That anger burns deeper in her chest, and she says, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Revan,” he starts, and there’s some measure of pain in his voice that she didn’t want. She didn’t ask for this but still, he stops walking and in the split second that she goes on without him he grabs her wrist, sliding down to her hand. If her immediate reaction is to thread her fingers through his, then neither of them say anything about it.

“What?” she asks, standing across from him.

“You know it wouldn’t be the wrong thing to do.”

 _It wouldn’t be wrong. His actions haven’t garnered mercy_. It’s what Carth said back on the _Ebon Hawk_ , when he looked her in the eye and asked her not to trust Malak.

She’d given him her word.

But like that conversation with Carth, she won’t give in. “That doesn’t make it the right thing to do.”

“That doesn’t--” he starts, but he doesn’t seem happy with it. He drops her hand. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but if they find out I’m still alive, they’re going to come after me.”

She knows he’s right. Of course he’s right. He’s been the enemy of the galaxy for a long time now, and the Council wanted to stop him at all costs. They took her and made her into someone else in order to stop him. When they find out he’s still alive...of course they’re going to hunt him down again.

A grim smile works its way over her features, and she finds she can’t seem to look him in the eye. If it came down to sparing Malak or letting the Jedi or the Republic hurt him, well. She’s already made her decision, hasn’t she? She’s already chosen him.

“You’re right, we don’t know what’s going to happen,” she says, but her voice sounds flat and empty. She sucks in a short breath before resuming their walk back to the hut. It only takes a few seconds for him to catch up with her, and when he does neither of them say anything. It’s just the same shadows of the trees and the same path she’s been on twice before, but only remembers once. It’s the same soft sound of the branches moving in the wind, somewhere far away, somewhere in a dream.

No, neither of them say anything, but it has to be alright. There’s nothing to say right now.

\--

That afternoon Revan makes tea in the kitchen. Malak sits on the couch with a datapad in his hand, and she steals glances over her shoulder at him while she sets her water to boil. She turns around, watching him for a while, but he doesn’t look up so she can’t tell if he notices or not. His eyes scan back and forth along the datapad, his free hand scrolling up every few moments.

Her concentration is only broken by the whistle of the kettle. She grabs her favorite mug, the one that’s red and has a chip on the handle that she likes to brush her thumb against. She’s convinced tea tastes better in it even though Jolee says they’re all the same. _Tea is tea_ , he would tell her before she called him a grumpy old man. After that he would just look at the mug and roll his eyes at her.

Leaving it to steep, she turns towards Malak again, pressing her lips together in a small smile before she asks, “What are you reading?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs. He doesn’t even move, he just keeps his head down, clearly still reading.

She arches a brow, and somewhere in the silence he finally looks up at her, meeting her quizzical expression.

“What?” he asks.

“Well it’s obviously not nothing.”

A flash of amusement comes over his features. “Does it matter?”

“No, I’m just curious,” she says, watching the evening light brush over his pale skin, over the length of his fingers along the datapad. Taking a breath, she reaches for her cup of tea, immediately warming her perpetually cold hands, and holds it up to her face so the steam will drift towards her.

Eventually, he relents. “It’s a book.”

“What kind of book?” she asks after sipping her tea. It’s absolutely scalding but it tastes right and its warmth spreads all the way down her chest.

“The kind you read,” he answers.

“Oh, so you think you’re clever,” she says, grinning. It’s not the answer she expected coming from him, but she likes it. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“If I do, will you let me go back to reading it?”

“I’d like to reassure you, but.”

He looks up again, he meets her gaze. “But?”

“What can I say? I need attention.”

This time he laughs, and this time she likes the sound. “No you don’t.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it’s nice, _sometimes_.”

When he gives her a questioning look, she explains, “People would always tell me about how much they hate Revan. There’s only so many times you can be called a sociopath before you start wondering if they’re right.”

“They said that to your face?”

“Taking over the galaxy has a certain way of ensuring everyone will talk about you,” she explains. “And if they don’t know you’re Revan...”

“Then they don’t know that they’re insulting you directly,” he finishes for her. He still seems amused but it’s a strange shift in their conversation. “You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“Sometimes you have to,” she says, because always punishing yourself is tiring. Because if you can’t make a small joke about it then you’re trapped with it--which maybe you should be--but it’s a hard thing to live with, even if it’s just with the knowledge that it happened once upon a time. She takes another sip of her still too hot tea before she says, “Yesterday morning you commented on how bizarre our situation is. I think I’m starting to agree with you.”

Malak nods absently, but he clicks off his datapad and gets up, coming over to sit with her at the table. He chooses the seat across from her, and she doesn’t know why that sticks out in her mind but it does. He says, “What, two ex-Sith Lords hiding in an old man’s hut on Kashyyyk? Sounds perfectly normal to me.”

“You forgot the brain damage.”

“Right, how could I?” he says, and winks at her before turning his head to check on the fire. The echoes of the flames lick up the side of his face, right over the slopes of his profile. “You’re not a sociopath, Revan.”

“I’m certainly not normal.”

“No,” he says immediately. “Definitely not.”

She grins back at him. She likes this, where it feels easy to be around him without the weight of the past pressing down on them both. It’s lighter, especially compared to where they were this morning, and it loosens the pit of worry she had in her stomach, that this time spent alone with him would be uncomfortable or turn into a series of arguments.

When he turns his attention back to her, he’s got a smile of his own--his version of a smile--and gestures to the datapad. “It’s a mystery novel. Jolee has about a thousand of them. I like the really bad ones, where you can guess the ending before you get there.”

“Really?” she asks. She doesn’t mean to sound so disbelieving, but it’s hard to mask her genuine surprise.

He just shakes his head. “What were you expecting? ‘How to Re-Take Over the Galaxy After You’ve Failed’?”

“You didn’t fail,” she says casually. “I just beat you.”

He actually tips his head back as he laughs, and something like pride swoops through Revan’s stomach. “You know, that’s the most you’ve sounded like your old self since we’ve been here.”

“Good to know it’s when I’m being a schutta.”

“You? Never.”

She rolls her eyes. “So what’s this novel about?”

He tells her a little bit about the plot, and she listens with a small smile on her face as he leans back in his seat and explains the mystery to her. He's right, the answer is wildly obvious from the get go, but she likes the sound of his voice, and like this she can almost forget the rest of her problems.

It's how she ends up next to him on the couch, a second datapad in her hands loaded with Jolee's library. She chooses a novel that sounds like it might be interesting, but reads slowly and looks up every now and then to catch a glimpse of Malak focused on his own. It's a good moment, she thinks. The two of them are quiet, and they both read as the afternoon ticks on and her tea goes cold.

\--

It’s later, after Malak’s gone to bed, that she sits alone by the fire. No datapad, no predictable novel, just the warmth hushing over her as she sits on the hearth. The heat makes her skin itch but she stays where she is, welcoming the distraction as her mind drifts between thoughts.

Most of them are of what she’s going to do, how will she remember, and what’s going to happen to Malak. Most of them are unpleasant to follow and so she snaps another twig in her hands, dropping it over the steadily burning wood. It catches flame immediately, adding very little to the fire, but it feels good to be doing something.

It’s late. That’s all she knows. Late enough that it’s dark in the hut, and the shadows creep in to the point where she feels like the room is smaller than it really is. It’s late enough that the darkness feels flat. Unmoving. It’s been hours since she first sat here, but there’s no subtle shift of morning coming just yet.

So she’s surprised when she hears Malak’s door open, her stomach jumping at the sound. He appears just a half-second later, looking soft in his sleepwear and the fuzzy light that struggles to reach him there. It doesn’t last for long, he draws closer and sits on the other side of the hearth.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, and his eyes look so dark in this room, at this time of night. They stay on her, but they move from her eyes down to the rest of her face. He looks at her mouth and then he looks lower, taking in the sight of her curled up as close to the fire as she can be, until his gaze returns to hers and she presses her lips together for a moment.

How do you tell someone you haven’t slept in weeks?

“No,” is all she settles on. “You?”

“It’s weird,” he says, and his gaze drops to the fire between them. “I think I got used to Jolee’s snoring.”

She smiles. “It’s like white noise. You only notice it when it’s gone.”

“You must’ve felt similarly when Juhani and Mission left.”

Thinking back to when the three of them shared the guest room, Revan tilts her head back for a moment. She takes a deep breath, and meets Malak’s gaze on the exhale. What else can she say? “It didn’t make much of a difference. I, um, haven’t slept in a while, actually.”

His brow quirks. “And how long is a while?”

“Long enough,” she says with a half laugh that breeds of exhaustion. Just because she meditates doesn’t mean she well and truly rests. Her body feels so tired at this point, but something in her still won’t let her sleep. She shakes her head. “It has to be weeks at this point, perhaps even before my identity was revealed. It’s hard to make sense of time when everything just...happened so fast.”

He seems to be thinking about that, given the way he turns his head towards the rest of the room. The shadows devour his skin, divided by a hazy shifting line where the fire burns next to him. “You don’t sleep at all?”

She shakes her head again.

“Revan,” he starts, and it doesn’t go anywhere for a moment as he frowns at the floor. He seems to be working it out in his mind so she lets him be. Finally his gaze meets hers and he asks, “Why haven’t you asked me about the past?”

“What do you mean?”

Something softens in his eyes, and it takes him a moment to clarify. “You said you had a thousand questions for me, yet you haven’t asked a single one. After all the fighting--I don’t know. I expected something else.”

It’s a fair thing to say, considering. Considering that all she’s been asking for this entire time is the truth about the past and now that it’s available to her she’s distanced herself from it. She offers him a small smile, just something honest, and says, “I’m still trying to understand it myself, so I don’t know if it would make sense if I explained it.”

“Try me?”

Her eyes find his, gauging him. “I want to know about the past, and to a certain degree I _need_ to know about the past, but it’s different now. What if I ask you about something that I could’ve remembered on my own? How do I remember on my own? Did the Council hide the past in my mind, or are these fragments all that I have left?”

“We can’t be sure, can we?” he asks, and his brow comes down. “But you’d rather remember everything yourself.”

“Yes,” she answers. “Ideally. I just don’t think that’s something I can expect, at this point. I know I need to ask, but aren’t there things I _should_ remember on my own?”

He nods, not quite meeting her eye. “Of course.”

“Then what do we do about that?” The question comes out before she actually thinks about it, and she wants to take it back. She doesn’t know why she’s included him in this problem. Sure, he can tell her about the past, but he can’t make her remember anything. It’s not his problem. Not his responsibility. “Sorry, I’m just--”

“Tired?” he offers

“Yeah,” she says, framing the word with an exhalation that sounds like a laugh. “Just tired.”

His expression is careful for a moment before he leans back, just a little further away from the light where he looks fuzzy and distant. She doesn’t like it, but his voice is soft when he says, “I can help, Rev.”

“How?” she asks, wary.

“I know which things you should remember instead of being told. I won’t tell you them, if you’re worried about it.”

She watches him openly, considering it. It would make things easier, of course, but there’s still something about it that doesn’t feel right. She knows that she has to ignore that, though, because she needs answers and he’s actively trying to help her.

“Yeah, that’d be nice” she murmurs. “Thanks.”

He smiles in that way that he does, but doesn’t say anything else. He reaches for a piece of wood and arranges it over the fire, his eyes look tired as he blinks slowly.

She frowns. “You should get some sleep.”

“I’m okay.”

She rolls her eyes before standing up. “Come on.”

“How can I?” he asks, staying exactly where he is. “I know you’ll be awake and alone all night.”

“I’ve been awake every night we’ve been here, Mal,” she says, confused at the way his gaze changes at that. “It hasn’t made a difference this whole time.”

His eyes narrow. “Well I didn’t know, then.”

“Look, I’ll walk you there,” she offers. “I want to see what Jolee’s room looks like.”

“You’ve never seen it?” he asks, and finally stands up

“No, I didn’t come in at all when we came for the Star Map. Too busy with wookiee politics and fighting off kinrath.”

“Wookiee politics?” he asks. “Do I want to know?”

He opens the door to the room, and Revan steps inside with the lamp in her hand. It’s about the same size as hers, but the bed against the back wall is enormous and neatly made. She eyes the quilt that rests on it, recognizing that someone made it, and wonders if that someone was Jolee. There’s a cot next to the door, presumably where Malak sleeps, and a bureau on the other side with little knick knacks on it that she can’t make out from here.

When she turns around she sees Malak leaning against the doorway, or a little bit in front of it, considering he’s taller than the frame. He watches her and she’s suddenly very aware that it’s the two of them in Jolee’s bedroom and that shouldn’t make her uneasy, should it?

She takes a sharp breath, her hand pressing against that handmade quilt at the end of Jolee’s bed. The quiet shifts from something comfortable to something strange, so she fills it by saying, “If you want, I could lay here and pretend to snore. Might help you fall back asleep.”

His expression is soft, the way he stands there and watches her. It takes just a moment for it to break. “I think I’ll be okay.”

She nods, then heads for the door, slipping around him. She stands in the open space and he stands next to it, and they’re close. The light drifts up from the lantern in her hand, held low as she cranes her neck up to look at him.

“Goodnight Malak,” she murmurs, and lets herself smile at him, ignoring the fact that their proximity makes her breath feel shallow.

But he smiles back, just in the corners of his eyes, and says, “Goodnight, Revan.”

The door shuts behind her. Revan still doesn’t sleep that night.

\--

They don't talk about it in the morning.

No, in the morning they sit in the kitchen and Revan eats oatmeal while she listens to Malak talk about lightsaber forms. It’s obvious from the start that it’s something he’s passionate about, given the way he comes alive as he explains his training to her as though she wasn’t there for most of it.

Technically, she wasn’t.

But still she listens, arguing that Niman is better suited for her than Juyo, which he has a particular liking to, apparently. He keeps mentioning someone named Kavar, but she doesn’t ask about it because she likes not having to bring light to the fact that she’s not a part of this world--the one where they can talk like it’s the easiest thing to do.

Which is what prompts her to ask, “So are we going to test this out, or what?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” he returns, but she can see the way his eyes light up at the idea. It’s clear how much he likes to spar.

“Jolee has two practice blades,” she offers. “We could try them out this afternoon.”

He nods in agreement. “Sounds good.”

\--

They take it to a clearing a fair distance away from the hut.

Revan stands across from Malak, her grip tight on the handle of her blunt blade. The last time they faced each other like this was on the Star Forge, under different stakes, and the similarity is unsettling, to say the least. It doesn’t feel right, but part of her wants to see this through, part of her wants to beat him again and part of her wants him to beat her.

The first clash of their practice swords is loud in the quiet of the forest floor. The two ends snap together, Revan’s blade held up while Malak bares down. He meets her gaze in that moment, and it’s distracting, trying to read his eyes, and it causes her to hesitate for just a moment too long as he attacks again. This time his sword swings low, and she barely blocks it in time.

She ducks out of the way, using her smaller stature to her advantage but he’s still quick and he’s on her again.

But this time, when their swords meet, her vision flashes in front of her, and for a half second, just a heartbeat, she sees him as something else. Different. He’s just a boy, shorter and with a full face, and his eyes are full of determination.

She springs back as though she’s been shot, and her Malak, _this_ Malak, looks at her with concern traced into his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

She nods, swinging the sword once in her hands. “Yeah. Fine.”

But it’s odd, because that was him, right? It had to have been the past. She could see the plains of Dantooine around them, blurred faces of kids surrounding them, watching them. She blinks hard, trying to focus as she rushes towards him, this time on the offense.

When she manages to hit him, there’s nothing there, and she wonders why it happened before. Why that spark ignited in that exact moment. How many times have they fought, sword against sword?

This is different from the _Leviathan_ or the Star Forge. Somewhere deep down she knows her life isn’t on the line, and this is a form of trust, to put herself in this position and know that he’s not going to try and kill her.

She’s sure every single person she knows would call her an idiot for this, but she’s beat him once, already, and finds she doesn’t fear him now.

Except the next time his sword meets hers, her vision flashes again, and in this vision his sword is sharp and strikes her across the face. In this vision she looks down and her hands are covered in blood and the look in his eye is so deep, so full of concern that it shocks her even as she stands here with him in the present.

The thing is, she can _feel_ it. She can feel where his blade met her skin, and she knows what it is because she’s seen the scar the runs over her chin and across her lips. She knows that scar, and now she thinks she knows where it came from.

She must’ve zoned out, because the next thing she registers is his hand on her shoulder, and she’s sitting on the ground, practice blades forgotten next to them. He’s crouched down in front of her, and it takes her a moment to focus, to realize that the man in front of her is completely different from the boy she saw, but the look in his eyes is exactly the same.

“Revan,” she hears him say, and it takes her a moment to really focus, to blink away the pieces of the past that still flash in her mind.

She stares at him for a long moment before her brow comes down. “You hit me.”

“I don’t think--did I?” he asks. “I feel like I lost you for a moment, you just kind of stumbled back.”

“No,” she says. “Not now. Then--in the past. You hit me. There was blood.”

His expression changes very quickly and his grip on her shoulder tightens. “You remember?”

“I saw it,” she explains. “When you hit me, just now. It was like I was in two places at once. I saw you--you were a lot younger.”

“Where were we?” he asks.

“Dantooine,” she answers. “I think. There were a bunch of kids around us.”

“We were thirteen,” he says, and his eyes are sad but his voice sounds almost wistful. He glances down at her mouth. Her heart races. “It was an accident. We were just--I didn’t mean to.”

She knows that, given the look on his face, but something about him trying to reassure her still reassures her. “What happened?”

“We were sparring, which wasn’t something we did at that point,” he explains, “but everyone was always pushing us. They’d bet on who would win, usually in your favor, and eventually we decided to do it. We went out to the plains so it wouldn’t be under supervision, and it was a very, very stupid idea.”

“And you won?”

“It was an accident,” he repeats. “Some kind of misstep or miscommunication, and my blade hit you right across your face. The timing of it couldn’t have been worse, too, Master Zhar and I left for Coruscant just days later. Neither of us knew, and then I didn’t see you for five years. When I came back things were different, but you still had this scar.”

His hand moves from her shoulder to her chin, coming so close to brushing her skin before withdrawing completely. Her chest aches when he doesn’t touch her, at the promise of _almost_ , but she takes a breath and asks, “Was I mad?”

“You only yelled at me about it once,” he says, and he almost laughs, which confuses her. He explains, “We shared Master Zhar at the end of our training, and he had us spar all the time. It brought up some old wounds. This one time you got so angry you yelled at me about how I scarred you. I pointed out that you could’ve gotten it healed.”

She frowns at that. “Why would I keep it?”

“That’s something I can’t answer,” he says, and it makes her think about last night. Does he not know the answer, or does she need to figure it out on her own?

She takes a breath, stretching her legs out in front of her. Malak leans over and settles down beside her, the two of them in the grass. She looks over at him, and it takes him a moment to return her gaze. She asks, “Five years?”

He nods.

“That seems like a long time,” she comments. “We were, what, eighteen when you came back? And we just resumed being friends?”

“Pretty much,” he answers. “Like I said, things were different, but it never occurred to me that we wouldn’t go back to being friends.”

“How was it different?”

His expression loosens into an almost smile, like he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t look at her, but she can tell he’s in thought because it takes him a long moment to finally say, “There was a lot happening. There were new people in your life, and there was a lot of drama with the Council. I’m not sure how much you want me to tell you.”

She presses her lips together. “Tell me about the new people.”

“Your friends,” he says, and smiles. "Talvon was easily your closest friend. He always had something to say about everything, and he talked too fast, but you had such a soft spot for him. I don't think he ever liked me much, but we put up with each other for your sake. Then there was Cariaga, who was the kindest person you could ever meet. She never had a bad word to say about anyone, which was hilarious because her best friend was Nisotsa, who was the complete opposite. You and her fought all the time, but I think you ended up becoming friends later on.”

He pauses for a short second before finishing, “There was also Meetra, who we actually met together, after I came back. She was...closer than most."

His voice drops off and she dares a glance at him, feeling a little sick to her stomach at the expression on his face. She was going to ask what happened to them, but right now that doesn’t seem like the wisest option. Instead she says quietly, “I wish they sounded familiar, but.”

“Hey,” he says, and he meets her gaze in the misted light. There’s something so soft about it, something so steady about him that she doesn’t know what to do with it. “You remembered something. That counts for a lot.”

“You’re right.” Her hands idly play with the grass in front of her. “I just wish I could remember everything all at once and then move on with my life.”

When she looks over at him, his his eyes are fixed on her hands, on the grass. He asks, “What does moving on look like to you?”

“I’m not sure yet--I’m still waiting to figure out who I am.”

It’s true for the most part, at least. Of course she knows who she is, but it’s only this version of her, the one with a history that started on the _Endar Spire_. There’s still too much missing, and she’s not going to ignore the impact these missing pieces could have on her decisions going forward. She can’t go blindly into the future.

Malak doesn’t say anything, and he still watches her hands, so she takes a cue from him. She lets go of the grass and reaches over to his hand splayed on the grass beside him. As she touches the tops of his fingers, he turns it over so they’re palm to palm. This time when she looks up he’s watching her, and there’s nothing to say about this, is there?

Right now, what could she say?

“Can we go back?” she asks. “We could read on the couch again, it’ll be nice.”

He lets a moment pass while he watches her openly, but then he nods and says, “Yeah, of course.”

He stands before she does, lowering his hand for her to take. She glances at him for just a moment, once again unable to read his expression, but she takes it anyway.

It’s hard to let go.

\--

They read late into the evening. Revan’s book has gotten boring since she’s guessed the ending for some time now, only reading to get there and see if she was right. Malak said that’s his favorite part, but that doesn’t make sense to her. Why would you want to know the end right from the start?

Honestly, what she enjoys most is just sitting with him. It’s warm and she’s comfortable--curled up on one side of the couch with her legs tucked underneath her, and beside her Malak is stretched out, resting his feet on the small table in front of them.

Even if her novel is predictable, it’s a nice distraction from her usual thoughts.

As it grows later and later, she begins to steal glances at Malak, who sits for long periods of time without scrolling down the page. She watches his eyes blink heavily against that flat darkness of night, the datapad softly glowing before him and lighting up his features in muted shades of grey.

“Hey,” she says, and it grabs his attention enough for him to lift his head from where it was resting on his hand. “You can go to bed, you don’t have to keep me company.”

He meets her gaze but looks away immediately, something guilty coming over his expression. “I don’t like the thought of you sitting up alone all night.”

“It’s fine,” she reassures. “I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while and he doesn’t move, so Revan watches him with a brow raised, trying to understand the logic of his statement. If he wants to sleep, he should sleep. She doesn’t see the point of him staying with her if he’s tired. If she had the option, she’d be in bed right now, chasing this exhaustion away from her body.

“I keep trying to think of something that would help you.”

She blows out a breath. “Does anything come to mind?”

“Not particularly,” he murmurs. “Before, when you couldn’t sleep it was always because of simple things, like your feet being cold, or just having too much on your mind. I’m not sure socks are your solution, here.”

Working up a smile, she asks, “Well what if I had too much on my mind?”

“That happened more often during the war, and everything was different then.”

It’s not an answer but she won’t call him out for evading the question. At this point she trusts him with this, however skewed that might be, but it feels necessary. If he won’t tell her then she won’t ask, and there’s something about that that works.

So she nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I might meditate for a bit, it helps. You should go to bed.”

“Yeah,” he says, and he gets up off the couch. She tilts her head in question when he doesn’t move, but he motions to her. "Wait, I've got an idea."

She raises a brow, chasing away the small spark of hope at that. "What?"

"Stand up," he instructs, and when she does, he pushes the sofa back and turns it so that it's perpendicular to the hearth.

Revan can feel her expression shift into confusion, her mouth falling open a half-second before she asks, "What are you doing?"

"Can you grab two of those chairs?" he asks, his eyes switching from her to the table in the kitchen area. She doesn't move for a moment, her brain trying to figure this out as he takes the cushions off the couch and sets them on the floor in front of it.

She diligently grabs two of the kitchen chairs, though, and brings them over to him, asking, "What is this?"

"A fort," he says, taking the chairs from her and setting them up opposite of the couch. "We've done this before, you really liked it."

Revan’s mind races with thoughts she can’t begin to catch up with, so the only question she’s able to voice is, “How old were we?”

“Well, we were just kids the first time, but one of the Masters made us take it down,” he explains. “So we waited until I had my own place and no one could stop us.”

“Which was when?”

“We were like, twenty.”

She laughs. “You’re telling me that just a _few years_ before we were conquering the galaxy, we were making blanket forts in your living room?”

“Yes,” he says, straight-faced.

“And you don’t find that, I don’t know, _ridiculous_?”

He cracks just the slightest smile. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Fine, I will,” she says, looking at the space he’s set up. “But I don’t think you’re going to fit.”

“Trust me, I’m an expert,” he says.

That earns another laugh from her. “Right. An expert who’s done this approximately twice?”

“Just grab this end,” he says, holding out the blanket. He shakes his head at her but he’s happy, so she’s happy. She holds onto the end he gives her, and he walks around the other side of the sofa. Together, they drape it over the tops of the chairs and across the back of the couch, finishing their little tent with an opening right near the fire.

In all honesty, it’s looks cozy.

He looks at her like, _are you going to get in?_ and she merely rolls her eyes before crouching down in front of the entrance. There isn’t a lot of space inside, but the couch cushions and the pillows make a nice little floor for their fort. There are extra blankets inside too, and Revan only hesitates because it seems intimate. She doesn’t look at Malak before finally venturing in, her head already hitting the blanket that drapes over the top.

She sits on one of the cushions, running her hands through her static hair, and leans against the front of the couch. Malak ventures in a moment later, and she cracks up the second he tries as the blanket falls over him and collapses the fort entirely.

Revan lifts part of the blanket that covered her face in the process, meeting his eyes in the now perfectly visible room, and laughs. “An expert, huh?”

“Shut up,” he says, but he’s smiling. He grabs his end of the blanket and reaches over the tops of the chairs on his side, trying to secure it back in place. “Damn it.”

“Here,” she says, lifting her side and throwing it over the back of the couch. When his side falls again, she shakes her head. “Get down.”

He ducks as she takes his side, leaning over him to drape it once more. She ducks as well, the two of them cramped in this tiny space, but then they both seem to realize that it’d be easier if they laid down, so they stretch out next to each other.

She lays on her stomach, both of her arms under the pillow so she can support her head, which she turns to face Malak. He lays on his side facing her, and it’s strange to be this close. It makes her feel vulnerable, but it doesn’t make her want to leave. She’d told Carth she wouldn’t trust him, but how can she not?

When she looks at him, she sees the person she might’ve been. She sees him, the person who, according to history, has stood by her side through absolutely every evil, terrible thing she’s done. She sees someone who has destroyed, who has damaged, who has ruined so much for so many people, but who wants to apologize. Someone who’s softer, who reads by the fire’s light, who likes to take walks, or talk about forms and fighting as if it’s still something he could do.

She sees someone who she _should_ trust.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice quieter now that they’re both settled.

Revan tucks her face against her shoulder for a moment before saying, “You seem happier.”

If he laughs, it’s just a small sound that doesn’t quite make it. “I’m getting there. It hasn’t been easy.”

 _When did it get so easy for him?_ she’d foolishly asked once. She blinks slowly, casting her gaze on him, and says, “I can’t imagine it has been.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s like this weight that hangs over me, reminding me how much I’ve been hurt and how much I’ve hurt others in return. Most of the time I feel like I’m finally getting over it, but then the other day I thought about Dantooine and I just...broke down.”

“That was your choice.” It’s the wrong thing to say. She can see it in his eyes, he knows that already, but the idea that the Enclave is gone and those who lived there are dead still breaks her heart.

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” he asks. “My choice. I destroyed where I grew up. Where we met. All the memories I have from there. All of it--in ruins. And for what? This--this _obsession_ with you and Bastila. This fear that something would happen to my _empire_.”

The words sound sick. One of his hands sweeps over his forehead, and he says, “I can’t get it back, Revan.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to anyway,” she murmurs. “The past is over.”

“That’s funny, coming from you.”

“Well, I think it’s pretty clear I haven’t figured out what I’m doing.”

There’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, and it relieves some of the worry lines from his forehead. “But you have figured it out, haven’t you?”

“I’m trying to.”

He sighs, a nice long exhale, and he stares up at the blanket that acts as their ceiling. “It’s funny being back in this position: trusting you to figure it out, putting my fate in your hands.”

“Hopefully it works out better than it did last time.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Her brow raises and she presses her lips together before saying, “Really.”

“It wasn’t,” he says again. “The worst part about everything that happened is that we always thought we were doing what was right. I know you did, at least, and I made the choice to follow you. When we started falling, it felt like there was a reason for it.”

She blinks back the darkness, focusing on the shine of his eyes. Her voice is quiet when she asks, “What was that reason?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “After you killed Mandalore, you said you saw something. A vision. You were seeing a future that I wasn’t, but I trusted you with my life. We all did. You said there was something else out there, something worse, and that we could stop it. Then there were the Star Maps, and kriffing _Korriban_ , and that changed us--of course it did--but it wasn’t until the Star Forge that those changes were truly visible. We couldn’t escape it--we gave in. You said it was necessary to save the Republic.”

“By destroying it,” she murmurs with a disheartened laugh. “Brilliant plan.”

“We don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t fired on your ship.”

“Are you telling me you think it would’ve worked?”

“I’m saying, if you were right, and there’s a threat far worse than the Mandalorians out there, then your plan might’ve worked. We would’ve needed the Star Forge to fight it.”

“Then I should've warned the Republic,” she argues. “I could’ve asked for their help instead of turning on them. Even the Jedi--”

“We’ve had this argument before,” he says. “I thought the same thing then, but you said that the Republic wouldn’t have been able to see past the Sith. That was the whole point, to get them to join us.”

“Are you saying that falling to the dark side was the right thing to do?”

“No,” he says immediately. “What I’m saying is that you had a goal, and it was one way to get there. I think it would’ve worked, you would’ve united us against this threat, but we would’ve lost ourselves in the process.”

“So why _did_ you fire on my ship?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, and she almost regrets asking save for the fact that she needs to know. “I hated you. The dark side took whatever we had and turned it into something ugly. We knew how to hurt each other, and neither of us held back. At the end I just wanted to be free from you, and my pride thought I could do it on my own. I thought I had to follow the ways of the Sith. Obviously I couldn’t. When you died I--” he breaks off suddenly, but recovers. “The only thing that felt good was destroying everything. It felt _powerful_. Imagine my surprise when you showed up again.”

Revan has to take a deep breath. In a way, she understands. It makes sense, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear. “How did you deal with that?”

“I was angry. And terrified,” he says with a small laugh. “I wasn’t sure at first what the Jedi had done to you, but either way I knew you were going to try and kill me. When Saul told me you didn’t remember who you were...it felt like the Force was punishing me for what I’d done. I deserved it, of course, but funnily enough we’re both still here.”

“Right. Funny,” she says, suddenly grateful for her own actions on the Star Forge. Killing him would’ve been a mistake. Killing him would’ve meant killing part of herself, one that she has yet to discover, because she looks at him and he just knows, doesn’t he? He knows exactly who she is, he’s been such an enormous part of her life, and what happened between them during the war doesn’t speak for their entire relationship.

“Malak,” she says after their lull in the conversation. “The vision I had--did I ever tell you about it?”

He just watches her for a moment. “No, you didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks, frustrated because she can still feel the remnant of that vision but she doesn’t have a name for it, she can’t see any part of it.

“You didn’t tell me a lot of things, Revan. As close as we were, there was a lot that you kept to yourself.”

“Like why the rain bothered me?” she asks, remembering their conversation on the roof.

He nods. “Like why the rain bothered you.”

“You really don’t know?”

“No,” he says. “There are only a couple of incidents I can think of, but I don’t--I never--I don’t know. I used to tease you about it but you didn’t find it particularly funny. It was just part of you.”

She thinks of all the times she’s been caught in the rain since her mind was reprogrammed, never once afraid of it. She blows out a slow breath. “That’s...frustrating.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says. “You’re telling me about things that have hurt you when I know that you don’t want to. That means a lot to me, even if I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Malak’s expression softens slightly. “You must have some questions at the top of your mind.”

“I do, actually,” she says, thinking of the one that’s been wriggling in her chest for a short while. “Since our argument in the woods.”

“We’ve had a lot of arguments in the woods.”

She laughs. “The one where you told me I’ve never been fine.”

_You’ve never been fine, Revan. Not since you were a kid._

“Oh,” he says, turning his attention to the cushion underneath him. It takes him a while to continue, “I don’t know, Revan. You just have this way about you, where it’s like even if you’re happy you’re not all the way happy. You’ve been hurt by a lot of people, but you never wanted anyone to know. It was always there, beneath the surface, and I wanted to help but I had no idea how.”

She wants to ask what he means by that, but there’s something deep within her that understands. It’s how she feels sometimes, in the good moments she does have, where she should be happy, but it doesn’t feel real enough. Maybe it’s her past hurts, maybe they still linger within her. Perhaps at one point she cast them all away, buried them deep, but she can feel them still.

“Did I have a mother?” she asks, her voice breaking embarrassingly on the word. She wants to clarify that of course she _knows_ she had a mother once, but she bites her lip instead and Malak looks at her as though he understands.

“No,” he says softly, gently. “You never knew either of your parents.”

She closes her eyes before her emotions get the better of her, though she can feel tears threatening to break loose. One of her hands reaches up to cover her face, and right now she doesn’t care that Malak’s watching her, that he’s seeing her fight not to break down. She’s sure he’s seen worse.

The truth is she wants that person her mother could be, but she’s made her up, no matter how real that voice feels in her head. The truth comes down to the fact that her mother’s voice isn’t based on anything _real_. She’d thought, at least, maybe _once upon a time_ , but now that feels so empty she doesn’t think she can breathe.

“Hey,” she hears him say, and feels his hand cover hers. He pulls it away from her face, and when she meets his gaze he looks distressed. His hand rests on her cheek, his thumb brushing under her eye, and there’s something about his expression that makes her thoughts pause. Her mother can’t be that person to be there for her, to comfort her, but maybe she’s not as alone as she thought.

It’s what makes her move over, to move further into his space until his arm is around her and she presses her forehead against his chest. He hesitates at first, but then she feels his strong hand against her back. He holds her close and she feels herself come apart. The weight of the past few weeks doesn’t feel as heavy--the loneliness, the confusion--it passes away against the safety she finds in his arms.

His robes are soft against her face, and she finds she can't even be self conscious about this. He's warm and he smells good and being this close to him eases something within her she didn't even realize was there. It's this feeling of _home_ , and maybe her body just recognizes him, finds comfort in him, but she's not going to deny it.

Reluctantly she pulls away, meeting his gaze, and his arm withdraws from her completely. In this shadowed light his eyes are worried, but she tries to reassure him with the upturn of her lips into a small smile. “Can you tell me some happy memories?”

“Of course,” he says, and he only pauses for a second before he tells her about how they used to play pazaak and she always cheated and he was a sore loser. He tells her about the derelict swoop bike she “found” and raced illegally in Dantooine’s capital city. He tells her about her relationship with Vrook, how she’d sit on his floor and talk with him for hours while he worked at his workbench.

“You’re lying,” she says when he brings it up. “That man hates me.”

But he shakes his head, and tells her about sneaking out at night to watch the stars, or how they’d walk around Coruscant just to look at the city lights. She laughs when he tells her about one time they drank too much at a new cantina, and neither of them could remember the way back to his apartment. He tells her about when they visited Alderaan with Master Zhar, and how they annoyed him so much he threatened never to take them anywhere again.

She laughs at his some of his stories, smiles at others, and somewhere in the midst of it all, she finds her eyes closing. She listens to his words as she curls up with her blanket, her face against the pillow, and his voice washes over her.

Somehow, in the sound of him, the closeness of him, she falls asleep.

\--

Revan dreams of an empty field.

Open and vast, she sees it all laid out before her. Miles upon miles of flat land in all directions around her, the grass short and faded. There’s no wind or sound, no trees--just space, no more alive than the distance between stars, just cold, dead.

And she can feel the deadness within her as she steps across this flat space, moving forward but getting nowhere. There’s a sound--a crash, a violent shake--and she stops. She turns. There’s a fire, it’s neat and shaped into a little mound with cloth covering it, and when she looks down her fingertips spark with lightning. It itches in a way that makes her feel like she can’t breathe, but then she hears another sound behind her.

When she turns she sees Malak--whole, but broken at the same time. It’s like the images compound upon each other. She sees him as a boy, eyes too big for his face, but he grows older, the images move quickly, and his eyes are always watching her.

She sees him as a man, strong jaw, strong shoulders, and still his eyes watch her.

“Malak,” she says, but the second his name falls from her mouth he disappears.

There’s another boy in his place, and he has blonde hair and a grin on his face. He grows the same way Malak does: separately but all at once.

She doesn’t say his name. She doesn’t know it.

Then, in his place there’s a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, and as her images grow older her eyes turn dim, her expression turns dark. She looks at Revan and says, “Go back.”

“What?” she asks, but the girl disappears, and when she turns her head she sees a crowd of people the same way. Some grow up, some shift just slightly, their faces turning only marginally older. She sees Master Vrook, the lines around his mouth growing deeper, harsher, sadder. She see the faces of her friends. Jolee. Bastila. Canderous. There are strangers, there are those she remembers, there are faces she wishes she knew the names to.

And all at once their voices raise, saying those same two words: _go back_.

“Go back where?” she asks, but they disappear just as Malak did. She turns again, and this time she sees herself. She’s just a girl, a mere child, but she knows her own face. The girl is static, her image blinks out and comes in again a little bit older, not all at once like the others. She changes until she looks like Revan does now, but as she looks herself in the eyes she realizes that this version of her _knows_. The woman before her _remembers_.

“You have to go back,” the other Revan says to her.  

“Where?” she asks again, but it’s useless. It all disappears--the girl, the crowd, the field itself.

Revan wakes up.


	11. Chapter 11

Revan’s eyes open to an expanse of one blurry, dark color, and the second she shifts away from it her entire body protests. She aches all over, each muscle tight and uncomfortable, and it takes a long, long moment for it to come back to her.

Last night: curled up next to Malak, the shadows of the room and his body, the way he held her for just a moment before parting again. His words, washing over her until she drifted into sleep.

 _She slept_.

Some part of her allows herself to smile at the thought, but when she looks over Malak’s not beside her anymore. The roof of their blanket fort is now draped over her, and she doesn’t know when that happened, or how long he stayed with her. She doesn’t know if she’s comfortable with not knowing.

 _You got what you wanted, don’t criticize it_ , her mother tells her.

 _I know_. She blows out an unsteady breath, but she remembers the conversation last night, the truth that crushed this ridiculous coping mechanism. Revan closes her eyes tightly and takes it back. _Go away, you’re not real._

But her mother’s still, small voice creeps in: _Are you so certain?_

There’s something so unsettling about those words that Revan has to ignore it. She has to...bury it somewhere, because she can’t listen to this voice anymore. She can’t keep trying to find someone who never was--and never will be--there for her.

She groans to herself as she gets up, her aching body protesting against the general notion of being both awake and upright, but manages to extract herself from their torn down fort. She looks at it blankly for a moment, the memories of last night flashing in her mind again, and takes her time folding the blankets before putting the cushions back on the couch.

Malak is nowhere to be seen. The doors to his room and the bathroom are both open, so she assumes he’s somewhere outside. Something in her chest feels funny about that, and she wonders if last night changed anything or if she’s just overthinking it. Of course she has to admit that they’re closer than she expected them to be, but that’s not something she wants to chase away.

The truth is that she likes Malak. She genuinely enjoys spending time with him, and that should make more sense than it does. Obviously her past self felt the same way, and obviously it was for a reason, but the part of her that still sees him as the enemy doesn’t want to come to terms with what he really is.

Her friend.

He doesn’t show up until she’s nearly done with her cup of caffa. The front door opens with a quiet sound and his gaze finds her immediately. A smile works its way over his features, loosening some feeling in her stomach, and he comes and sits across from her at the table.

“I was out for a walk,” he explains. “You were asleep when I left.”

Watching his smile has her helpless to smile as well. Despite the uneasy thoughts that come with having slept next to him, thoughts about her nonexistent mother, and the tweak of pain when she moves her neck, she still has to be happy that she did, in fact, sleep.

“Yeah,” she says. “I definitely was.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like sleeping on the floor wasn’t our wisest choice.”

He laughs. “Probably not.”

“Did you--” she starts, but pauses for a second. She watches his face and the way he watches her back, wondering how it’s possible for so much to have happened in so little time. From Taris, when he was just a story Carth told her, to sitting with him here, finding her voice enough to ask, “Did you stay?”

He nods.

“Thanks,” she murmurs before taking the final sip of her caffa. “And I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

She smiles. “Yes there is. More than I know of.”

“Maybe.” He grins back at her, but his expression turns thoughtful and he leans back in his seat. “Did you have any dreams?”

Did she? She frowns at the table while she thinks about it, and it comes back to her in that way dreams always do, when you find one part of it and then the rest unravels on its own. Her mind slips back to that field, and she remembers the way he stood before her along with strangers, along with her own image.

She thinks of the words _go back_ , and feels herself go still.

Go back _where_? Where could she go that would be significant--what would help her remember? It could be a place like Dantooine and its Enclave, or even the Rakatan temple below where the Star Forge once was--two places where the Force manifested itself more heavily, where the truth might’ve been hiding if she slowed down enough to see it.

It could even be the Star Map here on Kashyyyk, but she can’t be sure, can she?

“Nothing important,” she settles on, because it _isn’t_ important. She’s certain that her dream wasn’t a memory, and until she knows what it means it’s not worth sharing--right? Or maybe she’s more like her past self than she thought, keeping things to herself for a reason she can’t name. She shakes her head. “But I had an idea.”

“Always dangerous,” he mutters, his expression wary but still somehow joking.

Revan rolls her eyes. “I had a memory yesterday when we were fighting, and I’m trying to understand why. Whether it’s because I was repeating the same actions as in the memory, or if it’s because fighting makes me withdraw from my active thoughts and allows me to access them.”

“You want to try again?” he asks, but she can tell he knows that’s where she was going with this, because it doesn’t sound like a question.

“It might help,” she says, the words _go back_ echoing in her thoughts. She tries to push it away but it doesn’t leave her, so she swallows it down. “Or maybe it won’t. Either way, it’s worth a shot.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay.”

\--

It’s how they end up walking through the woods, practice blades in their hands. The weak light above the canopy struggles to reach them as it falls through the narrow spaces between the trees, and at first they don’t really talk, just walk in a silence that’s much more comfortable than it’s been in the past. Revan’s thoughts wander and she taps her blade against the grass every few steps, pointedly ignoring some ideas while lingering longer on others.

She looks over at Malak, at the smooth lines of his face. The woods reflect darkly in his jaw, and her eyes trace over the color that stretches along his scalp.

“Hey,” she says, and it gets him to look back at her. “How long have you had your tattoos?”

Something fond comes over his features. “Since I was a kid. I was born on Quelii, and they gave them to me before they handed me over to the Jedi. I don’t know. I think it’s supposed to remind me of my culture, where I came from.”

“Is that like a punishment?” she asks. “For leaving?”

“No--or at least, I hope not. I was too young to remember a lot of it, but tattoos are important to them. I looked it up at one point, and they have them to signify just about anything. I like to think of it as their way of making sure I’ll always be part of them, even if I never really knew them.”

“You never went back?”

He shakes his head. “There wasn’t really time.”

She hums as she thinks about it. She supposes most Jedi have a similar experience. Children are taken while they’re young, before they create those connections and familial bonds, but the guise of an unmolded mind only gets you so far. When you look deeper into it, it doesn’t seem right that kids are made to sacrifice these things before they truly understand what they’re losing.

(It’s funny, it’s getting harder and harder not to criticize what the Jedi do. She doesn’t think she has a reason to be concerned--yet.)

Somewhere in her chest her heart aches with the thought of her own parents, but her selfishness is always the most apparent when it comes to Malak. She hadn’t even considered whether or not he knew his family, but at least he has evidence that they did, in fact, love him once upon a time.

“I like that,” she murmurs, and when she meets his gaze he smiles. She doesn’t know much about tattoos, but she glances up at his head and tries to imagine him as the boy she saw in her dream last night. Would that have made him stand out to her? Did he hate that when he was younger? She hums to herself and asks, “How did we meet?”

“There are many versions of the story.” he says and sighs, like he’s been through this countless times. She grins because she knows it was probably her who argued this. “But essentially you’d gotten in trouble for the thousandth time, and they thought that I, being the quiet and gentle soul that I am, would be a good influence on you.”

Revan barks out a laugh. “I bet they regretted that.”

“Oh, openly,” he admits. “I can’t tell you how many times we were separated when we were kids. It’s why we were baffled when they had us both train under Master Zhar later on.”

“Why did they?” she asks, curious. He’s mentioned it before but she never questioned why.

He looks at her as though he knows that she won’t like the answer, so she steels herself for when he says, “Your master was exiled from the Order, and I think they felt guilty enough to make exceptions. You actually thought Master Vrook was going to be the one to take over your training, and maybe he would’ve, but they decided that my...stability, I guess, was the best option for you. It was something familiar, you know?”

Revan’s mind can’t quite wrap around that, and she frowns as she watches the grass before her feet. After a short minute of staring at the continuous pattern of the forest floor, she has to stop, feeling a little dizzy. Malak stops as well, and she can read the concern in his gaze but this needs to be said and done, doesn’t it?

“Why were they exiled? What did they do?”

“She--” he starts, and hesitates. “She had an affair, and a child, which explained a lot. She was always leaving you, sometimes for months at a time, and from what I remember you had an...unusual relationship. I don’t know, it was a hard thing to deal with, and I don’t know if you ever got over it.”

Revan thinks of her mother’s voice and wonders, and wonders, and wonders.

But she sighs, shifting her weight before taking a step and then another step, and then Malak’s beside her as they resume the walk to their clearing. She changes the subject: “When are you going to finish telling me about the Averre’s?”

If his expression is anything to go by, this story is worse than the last one. “Do you really want to know?”

No, but she has to.

“Yes.”

He sighs, taking a long time to say anything. She’s gotten used to these pauses by now. Malak always likes to know what he’s going to say before he says it, so she waits patiently until he finally answers, “After Kalen’s wedding, he and Sarin enlisted for the war. Within two months they were both dead. You were...devastated.”

He’d told her before that it wasn’t a happy ending, but hearing the truth still punches the air out of Revan’s chest. She feels her hands tighten into fists, her heart breaking at the thought, but in her mind she still sees their smiles, crooked and sweet and honest. She sees the plains, the sun, the feeling of being there as something whole. Not broken, not _dead_.

She’s starting to understand why she wasn’t fine.

“What about Jarek?”

“He shut down,” Malak explains. “He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he didn’t want your help anymore. Everything fell apart right after that. You came to Coruscant to talk to the Council, but they still hadn’t made a decision. Nothing made sense for a long time.”

“Is that what pushed me to go to war?”

Again he takes a long breath in lieu of answering. “Part of it. It wasn’t...straightforward, I guess. It took a long time, and for a while we thought the Council was going to take action. There were meetings, and discussions, and plans, but nothing ever happened. Everyone assumed Master Kavar was going to be the one to lead us to war, but that fell flat too. The news just kept coming, and eventually you got tired of their empty promises.”

“You’ve mentioned Kavar before,” she says, the name as familiar as anything else in her past.

“I was training with him at the time,” he says. “He knew more about combat than anyone I’ve ever met, but when it came down to it he couldn’t make a move. He was a good man, and I considered him a good friend, but he broke my faith in the Jedi. You and I shouldered more weight than we should’ve, all because he was too much of a coward to act against what was wrong.”

That makes her stop, but they’re at the clearing anyway. It’s just the same as it was yesterday, with just enough room for them to practice, and part of her is anxious to get going but first she has to say, “Funny how someone else’s choice can change your life.”

“It’s not a thought I like to dwell on.”

Revan adjusts her grip on her practice blade. “So how did I become the one to go to war?”

“You were angry, and you were frustrated, and you’ve always been able to get people to believe in you,” he explains, shaking his head. His focus is somewhere beyond the clearing, allowing her to watch his profile in the murky light. “Everyone was upset about the Mandalorians, but you were the only one willing to actually stand against them. At first it was just me and our friends that followed you, but that changed over time.”

“Yet you and I were the heroes.”

“Yeah, we got all the credit,” he says, and it sounds so bitter. “Our friends...most of them died before the war ended, but you were our leader anyway. You were the one who gave everyone hope, you fought Mandalore, and I was always by your side. It shouldn’t have been us, but it was.”

The air feels harder to breathe in that moment, and she thinks she understands now, the need to stare fixedly at the trees. There’s only one question left on her tongue: “They died?”

Beside her, his voice is barely above a whisper when he answers, “Yes.”

She takes one long moment to gather herself, forcing her lungs to take a deep breath and gripping her blade a little tighter. She nods once, ready to move on. “Okay.”

\--

Two blades meet in the clearing. The afternoon shadows appear as the two of them swing again and again. It’s an even match despite their differences and despite their performances yesterday. Revan feels more focused than she did then, able to see clearly without the flashes of the past, and she isn’t sure if she’s grateful for that or if she wants it back.

Despite the chill she breaks a sweat, her chest heaving as they wear each other down. They move too quickly for her to get a sense of where he’s at. It’s like they were made for this, like they’ve done it a thousand times before--and maybe they have--because each step either of them make is met by the other. It’s an equal playing field in a way that it hasn’t been before.

Because it wasn’t like this on the Star Forge. His anger forced him to make mistakes, his cruel torture of the captive Jedi only pushed her harder. There was a lot more riding on both of them in that moment, the fate of the galaxy reduced down to two people, blade against blade. She remembers the moment she knew she won, her kick landing against his knee, her lightsaber striking across his chest, the way he collapsed against the cold floor.

She thinks about the Averre’s. That loss feels new as much as it doesn’t even feel real. To her they’re still alive, still smiling in the sunshine, still dancing at Kalen’s wedding. To think that they both died and it was over, just like that, her whole life shifted just like that, and it was only the beginning of what pushed her into the darkness.

Her master--exiled. Sarin and Kalen--dead. Her friends--dead.

These things were beyond her control even as everything came under her control. Malak was right, the past isn’t simple.

The thought makes her stumble just slightly, but it’s enough of an opening for Malak, whose blade beats soundly against her middle. She doubles over, the air knocked out of her lungs, and her sword falls from her hand. She hears Malak drop his as well as he comes over to check on her.

She doesn’t give him the chance. She sucks in a breath and pushes up against him, her shoulder connecting hard with his stomach. Despite everything, it’s not enough to knock him down. He backs up, both of them weaponless now, and there’s a flash of amusement in his eyes as he lowers his stance, his empty hands poised to strike.

They continue to fight wordlessly. Revan doesn’t think she has much experience in unarmed combat, but it’s more instinctual than anything strategic, and it doesn’t last long before Malak’s superior size knocks her down. Once they’re on the ground she rolls over, sweeping his legs to take him down as well. They wrestle for a moment, his strength matched by her speed, and it’s a fumble of their limbs and their bodies in a push and pull against each other.

She knows she’s in trouble when she feels his knee pin her thigh and his full strength shoves her flat against the ground, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to give up. His biggest mistake is that he doesn’t grab her right wrist fast enough, and she pulls it to her chest before using her elbow to hit him bluntly at the bend of his arm. Between her strength and the sharpness of her bone, she’s able to get him to buckle.

Revan uses the momentum to flip them over, moving quickly to find his wrists with her hands and press them down into the dirt, her knees bracketing his waist, her weight settling onto him. His chest rises as he tries to thrash out of her grip, and his hands stretch out before his hips buck up in an attempt to knock her off of him.

She’s suddenly very aware of the position they’re in.

Malak is too, given the way he stills below her. They’re both breathing heavily, body to body, and Revan looks down at his jaw. There’s a feeling that pools low in her stomach--something like heat, something like desire--and she wonders what would happen if he had a mouth. Is this the part where she’d kiss him? And if she did, would she see the two of them in the past, lips locked, bodies together?

Is that what she wants?

She isn’t sure where the thought comes from, but more importantly she knows there’s nothing she can do right now, or at least, there’s nothing she _should_ do right now.

Malak leans his head back and closes his eyes in complete surrender.

She lets go of his wrists, backing off and moving her weight off of him. (Would he kiss her back?). He sits up as well, and her legs are still over his lap but she can’t look at him, so she rests her forehead against his shoulder. She’s surprised when his hand comes up and presses against the back of her neck, his thumb brushing against her skin. (She thinks he might).

They stay that way for a long time. No visions, no flashes, just her and Malak as they are now.

She leans back just enough to look up at his face, and his hand moves down to rest between her shoulder blades, still protective. His clear blue eyes meet hers, and they’re at such a proximity that everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Sitting here, she feels heavier. She feels like she’s in a dream.

She tries to remind herself that she doesn’t know him, that she promised she wouldn’t trust him, but she looks into those eyes and she does. She absolutely knows him. She absolutely trusts him. No reason--there’s no real reason for it other than the feeling deep in her gut. The truth she’s buried inside of herself, just waiting to be found again.

But it’s not just an empty truth, is it? There’s also this reality where he explains his worst memories just to help her, where he sleeps beside her, reads beside her, and watches her with those eyes just like he does right now. They’re so close but Revan can’t move away.

If he had a mouth, this is the part where she’d kiss him. This is the part where she’d lean in, just to touch, just to taste.

Is this a piece of the puzzle? A clue to the bigger picture? She can’t be sure if she’s gaining insight into her past or if she’s just confusedly attracted to him now. That doesn’t--it can’t be right. It would make sense if that’s what they were before, if their relationship was so dangerous because it stretched beyond the limits of friendship.

But if he wanted her in that way once before, is he over it now?

Their eyes are on each other but neither of them say anything. Revan feels completely closed off as much as she feels ripped open, exposed, raw. Maybe these things go hand in hand, that the idea of revealing the truth makes her withdraw completely.

It was almost like that with Carth, back on the beach at Lehon, but that’s how it was with him anyway. It was always an _almost_. Little moments tucked away, like sitting with him in the cockpit and teasing him until he finally cracked a smile. Or that day the two of them walked through Ahto City, looking at that enormous blue ocean, and his brown eyes were so warm, his voice was so warm. It was comforting, but never enough to push her towards him fully.

Not like this. This--this isn’t something she can shake away like a passing thought, and she doesn’t know what to say in the face of it, doesn’t know where it even came from. She looks at Malak and he’s so steady--no matter what they were, no matter what they’ve been, he’s fundamental to who she is and all she can really think is: _I’m glad I didn’t kill him on the Star Forge._

“Hey,” he says, and his thumb strokes against her back. “Are you okay?”

He probably thinks she’s had another memory.

She focuses on her breath, on his reassuring touch, on the idea that she needs to know what happened between them without asking. As she shuffles through her thoughts, her brain conveniently reminds her of those two words: _go back_.

The answer hits her hard and all at once. It’s a place that she’s been before, one that affected her enough that it could push her to remember something. Possibly everything.

“Revan?”

“I’m fine,” she says, blinking back her focus onto him. “I think I just figured something out.”

“What?” he asks.

“This, um, didn’t help,” she starts, and the words kind of stick in her mouth because it’s unexpected but it’s certainly not a memory. Part of her feels very foolish and ready to dismiss these ideas entirely. “I think I was right, earlier, when I thought that my memory yesterday came from repeating the events that caused it in the first place.”

“Okay,” he says, drawing the word out, and he looks confused but he’s following where she’s going.

“But it wasn’t a normal memory, you know? Otherwise I’d be remembering a lot more than I am. It was something unusual--traumatic, even.”

“Okay,” he says again, but this time his brows come down. “So what are you thinking?”

“I think I need to go back to the lake.”

“No.” His response is immediate, and his hand drops from where he was touching her. “Why? No, that’s--”

“It’s obviously had a tremendous impact on me,” she explains. “And I want to understand it.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Besides, you didn’t remember anything before when you tried to drown yourself, so why would it help now?”

“I didn’t know what to expect, then,” she says, and this is the most they’ve talked about it since it happened. They didn’t even talk about it when it happened. He carried her and told her he was angry and they pushed it aside. The memory of it still sticks in her chest, something uncomfortable but still there.

And once she’s thought about it she feels more and more as though she’s right, that this is what her dream was trying to tell her. If she can push through the panic, see to the other side of it, then maybe she can access the part of her brain that’s been otherwise closed off. The part of her brain that came back to her as she fought Malak yesterday. It’s still there, she knows it is, and if this is what it takes to get there, then she’ll try it.

Malak doesn’t agree, given the look on his face. His features are set in a frown and he doesn’t meet her gaze, staring down into the grass instead. She’s still sitting close, still has her legs across his, but he feels very far away.

“It’s not worth the risk,” he says.

“Really? What if it makes me remember everything?”

He closes his eyes for a moment. “That’d be too easy.”

“Malak,” she starts, and reaches for his hand that’s near her. When she takes it, he looks up, finally meeting her gaze, and she continues, “You’ll be there, and I trust you.”

She watches him take a breath, but his eyes don’t stray from hers. He watches her in return, and it’s a long, long moment that he doesn’t say anything. Revan doesn’t say anything either. She’s put herself out there, she’s _trying_ , and she knows he sees that. She knows he sees how badly she wants to remember on her own, and she’s counting on him to mean what he said.

That he wants to help.

“Fine.” He leans back a little, and even though he doesn’t look happy about it, she feels relieved.

Revan gets up first, lowering a hand to help him up as well. He raises a brow but takes it anyway, though he hardly uses her strength to get up. They retrieve their practice swords and wordlessly step towards the path that’ll lead them towards the lake.

She can only hope that she’s right.

\--

Walking together undoes the easiness that fell between them for the past few days. They’re both quiet and tense and she knows Malak doesn’t approve, but it means something to her that he’s still going with her.

She doesn't think about that moment in the clearing. She doesn't think about the strength he used to pin her down, the weight of his body on hers for just that brief moment before she regained control. She doesn't think about his reassuring touch against her back, or the ways in which she's felt drawn to him, to be closer to him. To kiss him--

No, she’s absolutely _not thinking about it_.

Instead she focuses on the task at hand, forgetting just how far away the lake is as their footsteps make quiets sounds across the forest floor. The trees disperse a little, the spaces between them become wider and she can see further ahead. It’s unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, just like Malak, and no, she’s not thinking about it.

By the time they reach the lake it’s getting to be late afternoon, and it’s colder than it was last time. The expanse stretches out ahead in the mist, the surface shifting every so often with ripples of deep blue water. It’s wide and foreboding and it’s hard not to remember the way she felt the last time she was here.

Deep down she can still recall that panic, can still feel the water choking her lungs, can still feel Malak’s arms wrapped too tight around her, and it’s not fair, is it? That this is what it’ll take...

They stand side by side at the shore. It’s not the same exact spot as last time, but it’s the same lake and it’s the same feeling: uncertainty combined with a suspected truth.

But she was wrong last time.

“Any chance you’ve changed your mind?” comes Malak’s deep voice beside her. Revan looks up at him, and in his eyes there’s something guarded, something different from what she’s been seeing lately. She doesn’t like it.

But if this will help, if this will bring to light something that’s gone missing, then she doesn’t have a choice. She nods, her hands falling to her waist as she undoes the ties of her robe. When she glances over at Malak he’s looking away, and even though she’s not thinking about it, she wonders if it’s out of respect or if it’s too intimate to watch.

She toes out of her boots and takes off her socks, hesitating for a moment before pulling her undershirt off as well, remembering last time how the chill of the water seeped into her skin and took far too long to shake. She’ll need as many dry clothes as possible.

Down to just her leggings and her breast band, she spares one more glance at Malak before stepping into the water. The cold isn’t unexpected but it still forces her to realize what she’s doing as it skims over her ankles and soaks into the bottom of her leggings. She takes a deep breath before her next step, focusing only on staying calm as she wades out further and further. It’s just her, the water, and the sound of her breathing.

But then--

“Wait!”

Revan stops immediately. When she turns, it’s to the sight of Malak pulling off his own robe, his boots next to hers, and she frowns.

“What are you doing?” she calls out, watching him pull at his belt, her stomach churning with dread.

“I’m coming with you,” he answers, and reaches to pull his shirt over his head, which is when she chooses to look away because _she’s absolutely not thinking about it._ Her gaze drops to the water, and it’s unfortunate because by the time she thinks of a way to refute him, he’s already wading out towards her.

When she lifts her eyes to see him, she has to take a sharp breath. She knows he’s in good shape, physically. Everyone does. Who could look at him in that skin tight red armor and not see it? But now, the way his smooth skin looks in this shadowed light--tight muscle and strength so obvious, from the stretch of his broad shoulders to the taper of his waist, cutting down--it doesn’t feel fair.

She’s only knee deep, so it takes just a few moments for him to reach her, and when he does his expression is a lot calmer. She keeps her eyes fixed on his, but he holds his hand out towards her and says, “If you’re doing this, you’re not going alone.”

She can only watch him for a second, and no, she’s not thinking about it, but her chest feels tight as she nods and fits her hand in his.

For the most part, she’s okay. She hisses when the water creeps over her waist and the cold laps up against her bare skin. Malak turns his attention to her immediately, his grip tightening around her fingers, but she shakes her head. As long as she keeps her breathing steady, she can convince herself that she’s okay.

Or at least, that’s what she thinks until the water creeps further and further up her body. It becomes a cold weight on her chest, and it’s a cold reminder of last time, putting her on edge. Her breathing gets louder--she can hear it herself--which only makes it harder to keep it under control.

“You okay?” she hears Malak ask, but she can’t focus on anything besides keeping herself calm and keeping herself moving. The water swells around her chest, inching towards her shoulders, and she’s _fine_ , she can _do this_.

 _I’m fine_ , she repeats to herself. _I’m fine_ , _I’m fine_ , _I’m fine_.

And she _is_ fine, but the second a small swell of water splashes up against her chin, a shot of panic surges through her. She has to contain the response her body wants--to violently thrash out--and instead tips her head back, trying to get as much air as possible. That’s when Malak lets go of her hand, and she almost loses it then, but his arms wrap around her, lifting her up and against him, pulling her a little higher out of the water.

Grateful for his height, she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. All of him is so steady and _there_ and her fingertips press into his bare skin, her chin digs into his shoulder, but she doesn’t dare think about it. Still, she has to focus on staying calm, she has to focus on the feeling of his arms tight around her, his palms against her back, and it’s enough to help her relax. It’s enough to help her manage to take a deep breath.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, and she can feel his voice vibrate in his chest, right against hers.

“Keep going,” she murmurs.

“Revan--”

She knows she should listen to him but they’ve come too far. She holds on and breathes out a sigh. “Just a little further. Just to see.”

Revan draws back, meeting his gaze though he’s mere inches away. Her hands move to his neck, still holding on, and the space between them feels so small but so heavy. It’s a distance she can’t cross and _fine_ , she’s going to think about it, but the truth is that she couldn’t kiss him even if she wanted to. Her gaze traces down to his jaw and then back up to his eyes, and she can’t help the spark of desire that sits low in her stomach.

She just wishes she knew what he was thinking. She wishes she knew him like he knows her.

Then all at once she backs away, the water hardly a thought as her mind is crowded by him. Her breath only catches for a moment, some part of her adjusting to being there, and she reaches out for his hands.

He grips them tightly, and here they are: facing each other in the water. Revan nods once, taking in the sight of the green-black expanse compared to Malak’s pale skin, shadowed by the wroshyr trees that loom over them still, even here.

Here. She needs to remember, and nothing’s happened yet so she needs to push it even further.

“I’m going under.” She grips his hands even tighter. “I’m not going to panic, but if I do, I need you to pull me up.”

“Please don’t,” he begs.

Revan turns her eyes to the water, because she can’t look at his expression right now or she’ll turn around. The last time she was here she didn’t truly panic until she was under, so she’ll let herself fall again.

This time, though--this time she has something to hold on to.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and adjusts her grip before taking a breath and holding it. She lets her weight drag her down, drawing her legs up, and the water slips over her head as she plunges beneath the surface.

The panic grips her immediately, but she was expecting it and once more she fights to keep herself steady. She focuses on Malak’s touch, grounding her in her mind as she reaches out with the Force, searching for the source of her issue.

Searching for a memory.

There’s nothing there, though. There aren’t any flashes of the past, or evidence as to why she reacts this way--why she wants to thrash and fight the water, or why Malak told her she was afraid of the rain.

The panic is almost tangible, hidden within the ripples of the water. It’s a natural instinct when she feels powerless like this, and her lungs are tight but she stays under. Here in this moment, she thinks she might understand.

It’s not the water she’s afraid of; it’s what she can’t control.

She almost stumbled onto the thought earlier, with the thread of events in her life leading to a similar conclusion. Even now she feels powerless in the face of all that’s happening. How much worse was it before? How much did it take for her to lead her friends to war, and then only to lose them all?

Revan focuses internally, forgetting that she’s weightless somewhere below the water’s surface. In this moment she focuses on the Force inside her, on her own insecurities, and reaches for that panic--both within her and around her.

And no, the realization doesn’t break those bonds, but it loosens their hold on her. She can feel it shift, can feel the panic fall away from her, can feel Malak pulling her to the surface.

When she breaks through she gasps loudly, choking down air as she regains an awareness of her surroundings. Malak’s holding her tightly, his grip strong, and it helps, it really does, but she pulls back enough to see his face.

There’s doubt in his blue eyes, but he takes her in. “Did you remember something?”

“No,” she says, working up a smile, “but I’m okay.”

His hand twitches where it’s resting against her waist. His palm is warm against her bare skin and that shouldn’t do anything to her but it does. She hardly pays attention when he asks, “Does this mean we can go back?”

But it’s those two words: _go back_. Her smile falls but she nods. This feels important, but it’s not the answer. Those words still resound within her, something true and important and still missing. Malak seems to register the shift in her mood but doesn’t say anything about it, instead he keeps his arms around her and carries her through the water back towards the shore.

When he puts her down they both reach for their clothes. Revan, however, happens to glance over at Malak’s form, bent down to pull on his boots. He’s still shirtless, but what captures her attention is the way his tattoos stretch all the way down his back, that pale blue-gray coloring his muscles in a thick, long line.

“I didn’t realize--” Malak looks over his shoulder at her voice, and her eyes trace from his back to his face. “I always assumed it stopped at your neck.”

“It used to,” he explains, and pulls his shirt on anyway. It’s somewhat of a relief. “I added to it later, at the beginning of the war. Hurt like a schutta--I couldn’t sleep on my back for weeks.”

Revan listens while she dresses, and her clothes stick uncomfortably to her wet skin but it helps with the cold. Not by much, but it still helps. “So why’d you do it?”

“I just thought it’d look cool.”

Her mouth half opens in response before closing again. She glances over at him, catching the slightest smirk in his gaze. “You’re joking.”

“Mostly,” he answers. They’re both fully dressed again and he nods to the path that’ll lead them back to the hut before he continues, “It was right after we’d left the order and we were feeling rebellious. I thought it’d be a nice gesture towards where I came from. You know, to pick up where they left off.”

“Literally.”

He grins. “You were with me at the time, but it took much longer than either of us expected. Despite telling me it wasn’t a good idea, you came up with the design for yours while you waited. Finished before me, too.”

“Mine?” she questions. He can’t be serious. She’d know if she had a _tattoo_ , right?  

But when she looks up at his face, she can tell he isn’t messing with her. “Yeah, yours. It’s um, it’s on the back of your shoulder. I figured someone would’ve pointed it out to you, if you haven’t seen it yourself.”

“Well either everyone’s lying to me, or I haven’t shown enough people my back,” she says, trying to think of when it would’ve been noticeable. There haven’t been many instances lately in which it would’ve been obvious, but still, she figures it should’ve come up by now. She shakes her head. “Either way, I haven’t seen it. What does it look like?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You should see it for yourself,” he proposes. “I wouldn’t do it justice if I tried to describe it to you.”

Revan briefly thinks of the mirror in Jolee’s refresher. If she can angle herself right, she thinks that she’ll be able to see enough of it, depending on its size. She almost asks, but as she swats a branch out of her way, she knows that’s the most she’ll get out of him for now.

“Fine.”

\--

The walk home takes a long time, but aside from her desire to get back and look at her tattoo, Revan finds she doesn’t mind too much. Despite the heaviness of the entire day, their conversation turns refreshingly light. They talk about the trees, using hand-me-down words from Jolee, and it’s a simpler joy that she hasn’t felt in a while.

When they do get back to the hut, Revan immediately pulls her arms out of the sleeves of her robe. She dumps it on the chair and rushes into the bathroom. At first she just tries to pull down the collar of her shirt, but that idea quickly gets scrapped when she can hardly twist backwards and hold it at the same time.

She pulls it off entirely, tossing it onto the counter, and turns so her back is facing the mirror. She looks over her shoulder and--

Nothing.

Maybe it’s the other shoulder. Her head feels a little dizzy as she turns it to the opposite side, stretching her neck as far as she can, but still--

Nothing.

“You _were_ joking,” she calls out, and goes to the doorway. Malak’s in the kitchen, filling the kettle, but he looks up when he hears her voice. She watches his eyes glance down to her torso before snapping back to hers, and he frowns.

“I...wasn’t?”

“Well you must be seeing something I’m not.”

“Turn around.”

When she does, she hears his footsteps fall closer to her until he’s standing behind her. When he doesn’t say anything she glances over her shoulder at him, and the look on his face sets her heart racing. “What?”

“It’s,” he starts, but the disbelief in his eyes takes a moment to pass before he meets her gaze and shakes his head. “It’s--it’s gone.”

“What do you mean _gone_?” she asks, turning to face him again.

He just watches her blankly for a moment, and blinking, he rubs his hand over his forehead. “They must’ve...I mean, it would’ve given you away to anyone who knew about it, but--”

“Are you telling me the Council got rid of my tattoo?” She feels slightly hysterical as she asks the question. Her initial response is disbelief, but as she thinks about it, it makes sense.

It was a war, and they were trying to win. They finally found the weapon they needed, and how would she believe their story if she couldn’t explain her tattoo? Scars are different, everyone has them, but a tattoo? That’s deliberate. That’s a choice. And if the Council was smart, they _would_ get rid of it.

But still--it stings to know her body was changed without her consent.

(In the end, it’s just another thing they’ve taken from her.)

“Okay,” she says, and leaves it at that, because what else can she say? She’s numb and tired and so _cold_. Her leggings are still damp and the fire’s gone out and she wants to shut it all away, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

She’s grateful Malak doesn’t try to argue, that he doesn’t try to help at all, actually. He watches her and he might be angry, she’s not sure, but she doesn’t think it would be a good idea to talk about it. She doesn’t even want to know what the tattoo was of, and right now she almost wishes it was never brought up in the first place.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, lingering in the doorway, feeling her hands lock themselves into fists until she forces them to relax. She doesn’t look at Malak. Her gaze drops to the floor and she steps into the refresher, shutting the door behind her.

She leans against it, and the weight of the day finally crashes down on her. Sliding down, she settles on the floor, her head reclined as she closes her eyes. She’s exhausted enough that thinks she could stay here forever, but her arms are covered in goosebumps and her teeth threaten to chatter, so she counts to ten and forces herself to stand up.

The water is scalding by the time she strips out of her damp clothes, and it soaks through her hair first, dripping down her body as she sighs out a heavy breath. It eases some of the tension in her neck from sleeping on the floor, and it’s a relief where her body’s already beginning to bruise.

Her thoughts are chaos--a combination of Malak’s stories, Malak’s eyes, the way they touched today. There’s the memory of the lake closing in over her head, and the idea of the Council taking away what once meant something to her. Revan shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight, and reaches out for the Force for some sense of calm to cut through this chaos.

But it’s just as frenzied as everything else.

She still feels chilled as she shampoos her hair, her arms heavy as she works the water through it, and it takes a long time before she wills herself to turn off the water. Once she does she merely stands there, water dripping down her body as her mind drifts away from her and her eyes stare blankly at the smooth shower wall.

When she grabs a towel she wraps it around her body and sits at the edge of the tub, bending forward until her arms are pressed between her chest and her lap, her forehead resting on her knees.

She breathes and breathes until she feels some semblance of energy come back to her, and then she stands up.

She’s been in worse situations, she’ll make it through this.

\--

Malak must be in his room when she exits the refresher, dressed in nothing but a towel with her still soggy clothes clutched in her hand. There’s a mug on the kitchen table with steam drifting out of it that she thinks is meant for her, which she catalogs before she disappears into her room to dress.

By the time she returns to the tea she can hear the shower running and she smiles to herself, just a tired, closed lipped smile as she settles into one of the seats at the table. Her right hand grasps the handle of the mug, holding it steady, while the other props her head up.

She sighs, exhaling a long, slow rush of air before taking a sip, and the warmth reaches her in a way that her shower couldn’t.

She wonders if Malak knew that.

She wonders a lot of things about Malak. So much has happened within the span of this past day that she feels like she can’t catch up, especially when she’s still trying to process everything that’s happened since the _Endar Spire_. It’s been one thing after another, and this time on Kashyyyk is the most she’s gotten to breathe since then, but still somehow it doesn’t feel like breathing.

It feels like she’s waiting for the chance to breathe, that she can see it somewhere in the distance and she has to figure out how to get there.

By the time Malak joins her, she’s curled up on the couch reading the novel he recommended to her earlier. It’s marginally better than those that she’s already read, which isn’t saying much, but it’s sweet that he wants to discuss it with her.

When she glances up at him his skin is still flush from the heat of the shower, but he has clean robes on and he settles down on the other side of the couch, meeting her gaze. They watch each other silently for a moment, his eyes steady on hers, and she understands, honestly, she does.

“Today was...a lot,” he offers.

“You’re telling me.” She puts down her datapad, twisting a little to face him as she tucks her legs up underneath her. Her head rests against the back of the couch, still keeping her eyes on him, and it’s funny how just a little while ago they’d never be able to do this--to be here and not argue. “I hardly know what to make of it.”

His brow quirks as he regards her, but she thinks it’s out of curiosity more than anything else. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I think--” she starts, and that undercurrent of exhaustion threads through her voice. “Maybe not tonight.”

Because what could she say? She can’t articulate what she’s feeling right now, whether about him or herself or the Jedi or what they’re going to do. Is she supposed to ask him about their relationship? Tell him about her fear and the water? What could she honestly, truly do about any of it?

(Nothing, which is an answer she’s uncomfortable with. It’s hard having problems with no solutions.)

“Okay,” he says, and shifts his weight. The light of the fire draws over him, making him look warm, and his voice is just as tired when he says, “Jolee’s coming back tomorrow.”

She nods, smiling a little despite the way it sets her nerves on edge. They’ve been in this bubble and it’s been nice, but she’s still curious about what’s happening beyond them. She wants to know, but at the same time she really doesn’t. There’s no doubt things are going to change once they find out what’s going on, but it’s time they faced this--the fallout of their war--and her selfish desire to stay here won’t be enough to take care of them.

Revan and Malak. Still together. Still here. There are a lot of people who would resent this fact.

“It’ll be good to have him back,” she admits, ignoring the rest of it.  

Malak shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m worried.”

“It’s going to be okay.” It’s a lousy statement with no real meaning behind it. Malak looks like he doesn’t believe her and no, she doesn’t think she’d believe herself, either. “Shut up.”

He raises his eyebrows for a moment, a smile working its way around his eyes. “Best case scenario?”

Revan hums, leaning her head back in thought. She quickly runs through a few ideas before deciding not to take it too seriously. Grinning, she answers, “If Jolee told us he found a Rakatan time machine. Then we could go back and fix all our mistakes.”

“Now why didn’t I think of that?”

Revan laughs. “It’s a simple solution.”

“Depends on how far back you go.”

“And which moment would you choose?”

She asks this because she doesn’t know what time she would choose. She supposes that she couldn’t go any further back than she can remember, so it wouldn’t really matter, anyway.

“Hard to say,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t go that far back, though.”

He glances away and Revan watches his profile, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”

His answering smile is tired, but it’s there anyway. “Things didn’t go bad until the war. I don’t think I’d change anything before that.”

“Really? Nothing at all?”

He shakes his head, and something about the way he looks at her makes her feel funny. He looks content just to be looking at her, and though there’s something a little mischievous about it, there’s also something openly fond that she isn’t sure can be helped.

It makes her feel warm.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” he says.

Revan hums, glancing at the fire before raising a brow at him. The shadows of the room brush over his face just like they brush over the walls, but she knows the slopes of his cheeks, the curve of his brow over his eyes, that straight nose, the harsh lines of his jaw.

She thinks she's starting to know him.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep again tonight?” he asks, and Revan feels herself freeze for a half second. Her initial reaction is _no, probably not_ , considering last night was different, and she strongly suspects it’s only because of him that she got any sleep. It’s not like she can ask him to do the same tonight.

(And oh--if only it could be that easy. It would be such a simple question.

_Would you stay with me?_

Right. If only.)

So Revan gives him a sly smile, feigning a confidence she doesn’t feel as she shrugs and says, “Maybe.”

His disapproving glare would be more effective if it didn’t break with a small grin as he shakes his head. “Revan.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists. “Are you going to bed?”

“I was thinking about it.” His gaze drops to his lap and he scrunches his nose a little, which has her wondering what he’s thinking, but then he looks up and says, “I’m just as happy to stay up with you, though.”

(It would be such a simple question.)

She shakes her head. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Malak.” She says it the same way he said her name, disapproving but not quite serious.  

“Okay, okay,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Goodnight.”

He gets up off the couch, his eyes lingering on her before her disappears behind his bedroom door, and just like that she’s left to face the night alone again.

\--

The truth is--

 

 

 

\--it’s not okay.

\--

Revan blinks tiredly at the fire for longer than she should, easing her mind into something quiet, something vaguely resembling rest.

It just doesn’t seem to work.

What she wants is to sleep, and the most logical thing she could do is go back to her own room, pull the covers over her body, and close her eyes. The most logical thing isn’t always the right thing, though, and her mind wanders towards Malak, wondering why it was him that helped her sleep last night.

And since it was him, since it was the proximity of him, laying close and feeling safe enough to sleep, then--she’d be a fool to stay away, wouldn’t she?

It’s not even just about sleeping. Sure, she’s exhausted. Sure, she’d love more than anything to shut out the world around her, but her mind keeps coming up with those same two words that have haunted her all day.

 _Go back_.

Maybe, just maybe if she fell asleep again she could fall into that dream again. Maybe she could get the answers she needs.

Her eyes trace over the darkened room to land on Malak’s door. A barrier between them that she shouldn’t cross; one that she shouldn’t ask him to cross. She imagines herself going to the door, him letting her inside. She imagines him curling up around her, how warm his body must be, and _Force_ that stirs something inside of her.

She knows she doesn’t have to imagine this.

Revan stares even longer at his door but she does, inevitably, get up. Drawing closer to it, her heart pounds away in her chest until she’s standing right in front of it, raising her hand.

 _What are you doing?_ she asks herself. The question keeps resounding in her mind as she knocks on it, the sound echoing into the silent hut, though it’s only just a small tap. It takes a long few moments, but then the door opens and he’s in front of her, his expression concerned.

“Hey,” she says, and takes a breath, takes in the sight of him before her, his robe pulled haphazardly on him as though it was a rushed decision. “I was just--I don’t know. I was thinking...”

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his brow quirking in confusion.

She--she doesn’t know how to ask this. At this point she doesn’t fear his rejection, but it’s still a possibility. And truthfully, above it all, she doesn’t know what she’s really asking.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says. It’s a lie, but if he realizes that he doesn’t give it away. She figures it’s worth offering in this situation--he’s given her this way out before and she didn’t take it then.

But now? Now’s a different story.

He leans against the door frame. “Do we need to build another blanket fort?”

“Ha,” she says, feeling a little ridiculous. There’s some amusement in his eyes, so she knows he isn’t too mad at her for waking him up. “I don’t think it was the blanket fort that helped me last night.”

It takes a moment for him to understand but she sees it click for him. His gaze travels to the room behind her but eventually finds her again, infinitely more serious this time. He hesitates, his head almost shaking, but he blinks heavily and says, “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” she breathes, and just like that, Malak steps aside.

Just like that, it’s the two of them in the dark. The door clicks shut behind him, shutting out all the light, and Revan’s heart beats faster in her chest as she carefully walks into the room, her hands feeling her way forward. Her eyes adjust quickly enough, and when she turns around, Malak’s sitting on his bed. She ends up sitting at the end of Jolee’s, right on top of that quilt, and faces him.

It’s such a small space between them, but right now it couldn’t feel any bigger.

It’s dark but the shadows vary, and it’s enough to make out the shape of him, the shape of his jaw and from there she can figure out the shine of his eyes. She wonders what she looks like to him right now, if he sees her the same way: halfway there.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice breaking the quiet.

She wonders if he can hear her heart pounding in her chest.

“You,” she answers, the word quiet, passive, but _there_.

Maybe he does hear it. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t do anything at first. Maybe that’s why it takes so long for him to finally say, “Come here.”

She swallows, standing up and drawing closer to the shadow of him. Despite his height, he still has to look up at her as she stands over him. The space between his legs falls open and she steps into it, too close, but one of his hands reaches up and settles against her waist.

Her heart still races as she looks down into his eyes, trying to understand whatever his body is telling her, and takes the moment to pull him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling his head against her chest.

His arms automatically wind around her, holding her close, and she digs her fingers into the soft fabric of his robe.

“What do you remember?” he asks, his voice muffled, and this is it. This is as far as she’s going to get. This is where her heart breaks just a little bit, because she’s only fumbling her way forward, looking for the truth.

And she wishes she had something for him, she so wishes she did.

He pulls back, his head tilting up again to look at her, and she draws her hands towards his face, tentatively touching his jaw. Her fingertips brush over cold metal until she reaches smooth, warm skin, and she knows he can see how she looks at him. She knows he can tell that she doesn’t have the answers.

She knows this, but she considers lying anyway.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and their faces are close but there’s nothing she can do about it. His arms are still wrapped around her and she’s worried he’ll let go--she can’t stomach the thought of it. She doesn’t want to leave him and she doesn’t know when this happened, how this happened, how this could possibly go any further than where they are right now.

He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into one of her palms, and he stays where he is. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I am, though.” She can’t tell him how sorry she is. “I’m a mess. I’m trying to piece everything back together but it feels useless, and none of it explains why I feel like this.”

 _This_ , it’s the closest she’ll come to admitting anything.

Revan feels his hands tighten against her, his face staying the same as much as it can in the dark. She doesn't know if she’d be able to tell the difference anyway. He takes a long time to say anything, but then, “Will you promise me something?”

“What?” she asks, cautious.

“That if it comes down to protecting me, or protecting yourself, you’ll choose yourself.”

“What?” she repeats, but this time it’s incredulous. “No, I can’t.”

“Revan please,” he says, his voice pleading, and Revan _can’t_. Her hands drop to his shoulders, her thumbs brushing over the fabric there before she shakes her head.

“I told you before, I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“You’ve been given a way out,” he says, and lowers his gaze. “You should take it; you don’t have to answer for the past.”

“We don’t know that it’s going to come to that.”

“But if it does,” he starts.

“Malak,” and his name falls from her lips like a prayer. She thinks of them this afternoon, their bodies this afternoon, how she would’ve kissed him if she could’ve. She thinks of this and she looks at him, and she _wants_ him. Why the hell does she have to complicate this?

She forces herself to let go, drawing her hands back. He’s still holding on but she nudges her way out of his grip in order to sit next to him on the bed. Her side still presses against him, her shoulder and her thigh, and she blows out a breath before saying, “Please don’t ask me to do that.”

When she looks up at him he turns his head towards her, his eyes finding hers. “I have to, Revan. It’s okay. Whatever happens, you’ve given me a second chance. We both know that I should’ve died on the Star Forge, but now I’ve gotten to make some things right, and I don’t want to ruin that by fighting for a life I don’t deserve.”

He’s talking like it’s a fact and it’s too much. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Revan, you have to.”

“I know,” she says, “but it’s not fair. It’s easier for them to give me a second chance. No one wants to believe that I was capable of all that I’ve done. After I told my friends that I was Revan, they just...accepted me. They think the person I am now is completely different from who I was then, but you know that’s not true. The public...they’ll accept me because I’m suddenly a hero again. They don’t want to think that you’re capable of the same thing.”

He doesn’t say anything, just breathes and breathes and her thoughts won’t stop. She drops her gaze, seeking the nothingness in the black of the room, and continues, “People don’t want to see grey areas. It’s too confusing for them; it doesn’t allow them to decipher what’s right or wrong without an argument. It’s easier to punish you if they don’t see that you’re repentant. They don’t want to punish me because they want to believe that I’m a good, honest person.”

“You _are_ good,” he argues, but it doesn’t have much weight to it.

She returns her gaze to him, raising a brow. “Not honest?”

“No,” he says, and laughs slightly. “I’ve been cheated by you in pazaak too many times to consider you honest.”

She manages to grin at that. “I just want them to see this side of you.”

“They won’t,” he says, because she’s right. They won’t _want to_. It was easier with Revan--they gave her a new identity, they relied on the fact that she didn’t know what she did. The same can’t be said for Malak.

He _knows_.

Revan tilts her head to the side until it rests on his shoulder, feeling the pull of him and the pull of that same exhaustion that found her earlier. She closes her eyes, breathes deep, and tries to let go--

“Hey,” he says, and draws away from her as much as he can without moving her. “You should lay down; try and get some sleep.”

She meets his gaze with a question in her eyes, but he looks pointedly at his bed and then back to her. She goes to move, but first she has to ask, “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” He stands and pulls the blanket back, to which Revan crawls over the open space to lay down. He joins her a second later, his weight dipping onto the mattress that is probably too small for the two of them, but he lays close and faces her. “Always.”

Here they are: the two of them tucked up into a little bed on the forest floor, their heads sharing the same soft pillow, the world around them completely dark.

“Come here,” she murmurs. She inches closer, her arm reaching around him and holding him close. It takes him a moment to respond, but when he does he wraps fully around her, his arms tight around her back, holding her firmly against his broad chest. She can hear how fast his heart beats, but as they stay where they are, she hears it slow as his chest rises and falls in long, steady breaths.

Revan doesn’t know what prompts her to move, but she leans up and presses her lips to his shoulder, lingering there for a long time before she loses her nerve, not meeting his eyes, not saying a word. She settles back against his chest, and this time both of their hearts are racing.

She feels one of his hands pull her hair out of the way, rubbing small circles in the space between her shoulders. It’s more comfort than she could ask for, and his cheek comes down, resting against the top of her head. She feels so secure--so safe--and as she stays there, matching her breathing to his, she does, eventually, fall asleep.

\--

Revan dreams of a hill.

It looms before her, and the landscape is dark all around. The sky is dark as well, save for threads of lightning that precede rolling cracks of thunder, and the only real light rises from fractures in the earth, illuminating the ground in a bright, sickly green color.

There’s a bad energy here, one that feels familiar, though she doesn’t recognize her surroundings. There’s a woman standing next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and it’s the same one from her dream last night, the one who told her to go back.

Revan turns to face her, but the woman doesn’t look at her. Her skin reflects that eerie green light, and her face isn’t what it was before. Now it’s bruised around the eyes, and she has a large gash that extends from her jawline up to her ear, her hair matted with blood.

“Who are you?” Revan asks, but there’s no answer. She shakes her head, trying again: “What did you mean?”

At this, the woman raises a shaky hand, her index finger extended and pointing at the hill.

Revan turns, and there’s a second figure standing at the top, their back to them, and a voice rings out that she recognizes immediately.

“Foolish child,” her mother says. “ _Go back_.”

The figure turns around, but her hood is pulled low over her face and it’s too dark to make out any of her features. Revan tries to move towards her, but she’s stuck where she is. She wants to scream, cry out, but she wakes up before her mouth can even form the word, _Where?_

\--

When she opens her eyes it’s still completely dark in the room, the kind of dark that means it’s still night, and beside her Malak is still asleep. He’s facing her but they’re not touching anymore, and she takes a moment to watch him as her mind untangles itself from the weight of her dream.

He contrasts her thoughts. Where she’s tense, chaotic, and maybe a little afraid, there’s such a calmness about him. There’s a sweetness in his sleeping face--from the smooth plane of his forehead and the sweep of his lashes against his cheek, to the way his shoulders rise and fall in a constant rhythm. He breathes long and deep and listening to it helps to ease the stress that’s locked in her muscles.

She’s tired. She’s so, so tired, and beside her Malak is so warm. If she snuggles closer to him, burrowing her forehead against his chest as she tucks her arms up between them, who could blame her?

He shifts, and for a moment Revan thinks he’s awake, but his breathing stays steady. It’s just an automatic response, the way his body responds to hers, the way he fits himself against her. Revan smiles to herself, letting it linger even as the ghost of her dream sits heavily in the back of her mind.

All she can do is close her eyes, breathe in his warmth, and let herself fall back asleep.

\--

The next time she wakes up, she’s alone.

As she stretches out in the empty bed, she wonders if Malak’s an early riser. Her sleepless nights always meant that she’d be awake before anyone, and she has too many memories of the morning light shifting in through the windows, sitting by the fire and waiting for the first sounds of life moving through the hut as Malak and Jolee awoke.

Now it’s her laying in bed--Malak’s bed--and if she forces herself to think about it, she might be happy despite everything that tells her she shouldn’t be. It’s just for a moment, just a fleeting thought, but part of her wants to hold onto it even though she knows it won’t last.

Jolee’s coming back today.

She groans to herself, rolling over into the space where Malak was, and allows herself a few more minutes to bask in the comfort of his bed before forcing herself to get up.

\--

Neither of them say anything about last night.

She can see it in his eyes--the question he wants to ask her, but he doesn’t give it a voice and she’s certainly not going to be the one to bring it up. So they don’t. Revan eats oatmeal that’s too chewy and sips at her caffa, feeling it go down warm and sweet.

All the while they talk about simple things--things that are warm, and things that are sweet.

Things like this secluded spot they used to have on Dantooine, where they’d meditate and talk and break free from the weight of being in the Enclave. No one ever knew about it, and even when they went back to it years later, it still felt the same. He tells her about sneaking off to a town called Garang, where she once bought them friendship bracelets with credits he _still_ isn’t sure how she obtained.

She’s careful about which questions she asks, hoping for answers that aren’t as heavy as _this fell apart_ or _they died_. Malak asks where she is in the novel that she’s reading, and they discuss the plot so far and how predictable they all are, and Revan laughs when he makes jokes, when he talks with his hands.

Just the other day she watched in jealousy as Jolee brought out this version of Malak, and grins to herself because now she has.

At some point one of them suggests that they should meet Jolee at the lift, and Revan swallows down the rest of her drink before pulling on her outer robe.

Their booted footsteps are quiet on the forest floor, and Revan tilts her head back as she walks. The canopy is as heavy as ever, that same dark green blanket full of life and sound, and beside her Malak is so steady. His presence has become so comforting that just walking together is the nicest thing right now. If she dares think about it, sure, she might be happy.

But no--she thinks of her dreams, of what’s to come, and she knows she shouldn’t be.

Malak bumps his arm against her shoulder, getting her attention to shift over to him, and his eyes crinkle in the softest smile she thinks he can manage. There’s something knowing in his eyes, and she understands, she really does, but she lets it go unspoken.

He seems content to as well, just letting his gaze linger on hers for as long as they both can manage without looking at the path.

Truthfully, it’s a short walk, and when they reach the spot where the lift will come down, it’s already in sight. They both stand there and watch it, its slow moving nature making the process a little agonizing. It gets closer and closer, though, and Revan’s stomach churns in anticipation, knowing that it brings answers as much as anything else.

Of course she has to be wary.

“Revan,” Malak says beside her, and she turns her attention over to him again. Her name’s said with the urgency of knowing that this is one of their last moments alone together, and it’s dwindling before their eyes.

“Yeah?”

He smiles again but there’s something about it that isn’t quite happy. “I’m really glad we got to spend this time together.”

Her answering smile is just as bittersweet. “Me too.”

“Whatever happens,” he says, using that blasted phrase again, “I’m glad you saved my life.”

The statement breaks her heart as much as it puts it back together, summoning a million different emotions. Before she can answer, though, Jolee leans over the edge of the lift, his grin visible now as it nears the ground, and he calls out, “Did you kids behave?”

“No,” they both shout at the same time, and Revan laughs despite herself. Jolee just shakes his head, disappearing over the edge, and Revan and Malak don’t talk as they wait out the last few minutes it takes for the lift to reach the ground.

Any semblance of calm she had, though, disappears when she notices another figure on the lift beside Jolee. His orange pilot jacket gives him away before she can even look at his face, and she swears her heart stops as his name falls from her lips without thought.

“Carth.”


	12. Chapter 12

It’s a hard thing to be faced with a choice between what you know is right, and what you want.

It’s hard to know that the difference could mean life or death--not just for you, not just for the ones you care about, but for something much bigger. Something she’d seen once before, that she knew she had to be prepared for, and was willing to throw away everything in order to stop it.

Revan knows it’s a choice. She knows that even as the truth gets clearer, she’s still blind. She’s still feeling her way forward with just flashes of memories, a voice in her head, and words from Malak that will never penetrate her heart until she truly remembers.

It would be easier if the right thing to do was the same as what she wants to do--even easier if she wasn’t ashamed of the fact that she wants it at all.

But, well, she supposes she knew it had to come to an end.

\--

The lift silently touches the ground and Revan’s thoughts still as her eyes lock onto Carth’s. Beside her, Malak’s familiar presence shifts in her peripheral, his body mirroring the uncertainty that beats through her chest. Carth offers her a loose smile, something uncertain but full. She doesn’t smile back because she doesn’t know what to think. There’s a blanket of static where there should be something coherent, a sheet of white that she can’t get around.

At least, not until Carth steps out of the lift, saying, “Hey, beautiful.”

Revan barks out a laugh, feeling part of that old self come over her, the one she shed when she first found out the truth. It’s the self that teased him relentlessly on Taris, who debated with Bastila just to get under her skin, and begged Mission to help her get better at pazaak. It’s a familiar self, an old worn self, and she slips back into it easily, grinning at him as though she’s someone else entirely.

“I didn’t know they let hairless wookiees down in the Shadowlands,” she jokes, watching him as he comes closer. It’s the same brown eyes, same grin, but his hair is shorter and his beard is trimmed down--closer to how he looked when she first met him.

(She rarely thinks about it these days--the _Endar Spire_ falling apart as she put her trust in a voice she’d never heard before. It was the beginning, she supposes, of this life she leads now. It was the beginning of her memories, starting with a fight, starting with a loss--which makes sense.

She never knew Trask, but it hurt all the same.)

“I had to sneak down,” Carth says, wrapping his arms around her, and Revan hesitates only because of how they left things. They’ve always been stubborn with each other, but this disagreement felt too big. _This_ \--her actions, keeping Malak alive. Of course it was dangerous, of course it betrays a certain sense of trust, but once she saved him there was no going back.

Apparently to Carth, that isn’t true.

But Revan still hugs him, breathing in the scent of his jacket, something clean, something masculine. Always Carth. It’s almost easy to fall back into that old mindset, when something _was_ happening between them. Even easier when his raspy voice says in her ear, “I missed you.”

Revan pulls away just after he says it, and her mouth opens to say it back but the words don’t come. Of course he’s crossed her mind these past few weeks. Of course she’s wondered about him, wondered about them, wondered what the future looks like for all of them.

But did she miss him?

She glances over at Malak, who’s murmuring something to Jolee. He looks back the second her eyes land on him, and it makes her thoughts falter. Luckily his gaze travels from her to Carth, and spares her from answering by stepping closer. If he’s affected by any of this, he doesn’t let it show. He just nods at Carth and says, “Onasi.”

Carth offers a single nod in response, but little more. He looks to Revan instead, who figures this is probably the best it’s going to get. Malak was still unconscious when Carth, Bastila, and Canderous left, so she hasn’t seen them interact since that moment on the _Leviathan_ , which--it wasn’t a great start.

“What happened?” Revan asks him, certain that he wouldn’t be here unless something happened, and that brings some kind of panicked response that feels both precarious and threatening. It brings thoughts of _what if’s_ and _could be’s_ and as much as she wants to fill in the blanks, she’d rather reserve her anxiety for the truth.

And--she’s seen Carth when he’s serious. She’s seen him in distress, watched him be tortured, watched him hold the man that ruined his life as he breathed out his last, mocking words. She’s seen that vein in his forehead countless times, always under stress, always when everything is difficult, so her stomach drops as this same look comes over him and he shakes his head, saying, “We should sit down and talk.”

“Okay.” The word comes out as a breath, just a soft sound in the quiet of the forest floor. She looks to Jolee, who nods, but his eyes are worn and he looks tired, and Revan doesn’t like being in the dark like this.

She looks to Malak next, but he doesn’t appear to be worried so much as wary. He meets her gaze for a moment, and in that second there’s something comforting in his gaze. Maybe that’s why she looks to him in the first place.

She’s starting to rely on him. It’s not a good feeling.

“Come on,” Jolee says, and he taps her arm as he moves past her. “Let’s head back. It’s been a long day, and an old man needs to put his feet up.”

Malak goes with him, the two of them falling into step as they usually do. They’re such an odd pair: Jolee with his dark skin, Malak pale but contrasted by his tattoos. Jolee, hardly reaching Malak’s shoulder, and Malak having to duck under the lower branches of the trees. A small smile fits itself onto her lips as she follows a short distance behind, Carth at her side.

“Is everything okay?” she tries again, keeping her voice low.

When she looks up at him, his brown eyes are steady on hers--and while they’re cautious, they’re also reassuring. He nods once, the corner of his lip lifting in a small smile, and he says, “It’ll be okay.”

Somehow that doesn’t help.

“Is everyone safe?” is her next question.

“As far as I know, yes,” he says, and something comes loose in the pit of her stomach. It might be relief, it might might be something else. He continues, “I see Mission the most, she hangs around my office when she’s bored, which is...more often than not.”

“On Telos?”

“Coruscant.” He sighs. “Everything’s been a mess, we’re just trying to sort through it all.”

She can feel the blame in his words, even if it isn’t what he intends. It’s her mess. It’s her fault. From the beginning, when she really was Revan and tore apart the galaxy, to now, cleaning up her mistakes and creating new ones in the process.

Except--Malak isn’t a mistake.

Her eyes stay on his tall form in front of them, watching the curve of his shoulders as he walks. She watches the lines of his body--the width of his back tapering down to his waist, over the jut of his hips and down his long legs. His body is built for his strength, it aided his destruction, and yet all she can think about is the way it spilled warmth next to her last night.

And somehow, with the image of his hands on her body in the front of her mind, she still finds the words to say to Carth: “I’m starting to feel like you.”

Beside her, she can sense him raise a brow. “Why’s that?”

“I’m being left out of the loop.”

He laughs. “What was it? _You were born out of the loop_?”

It’s an old joke between them now, and as much as it pulls on the corners of her lips, it makes her wistful for those early days on Dantooine. She misses the golden glow of the sun, the plains alive in its light, the easiness of the Force--when it was something new, when it felt like she was special, and that she had a big role to play in the events of the galaxy.

Now? She knows she was a fool.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe I was wrong about you, flyboy,” she says.

“I hope so,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp. Revan’s head turns towards him, the motion sharp and curious. Before she can question what he means by that, ahead of them Malak laughs and the sound carries back towards them. Carth’s mouth quirks and he glances at her. “What’s that like? Has he been giving you trouble?”

Trouble--Revan thinks about yelling at Malak in the woods, she thinks about the moody silences between them and the angry words he threw at her. She remembers patching up the roof in stubborn silence, the way they’d glare at each other across the kitchen table most mornings.

But then she thinks about the glow of his skin next to the fire, the whisper image of his profile in the dark, the feel of his body below hers. She thinks about his arms around her in the water, the touch of his hand to her waist, her lips against his shoulder, the sound of his heart racing--

Oh yeah, he’s trouble.

“Honestly? We’re both a mess,” she says, smiling to herself. “I think I’ve given him more trouble than he’s given me, though.”

Carth’s answering smile is reluctant, but it’s there all the same. “Why am I not surprised?”

Revan shakes her head at him, but holds back a response as they arrive at the hut, its warm glow familiar in the permanent shadows of the woods. She watches Jolee slip behind the door, and Malak is right behind, but he spares a glance back at her before he follows him in. Her and Carth join them just a few moments later. Carth steps in ahead of her and Revan clicks the door shut behind them.

Inside, Jolee’s looking at the couch that’s been left by the hearth, and he raises a brow at her. “You decided to redecorate, hm?”

“Something like that,” she says, and watches the corners of Malak’s eyes, waiting for the hint of a smile that does, indeed, come when he realizes what Jolee’s said. His eyes find hers across the room, and he lifts a shoulder. It’s something that belongs to them alone, and she likes the feeling. It takes her a moment before she looks back at Jolee.

“Should I put the kettle on?”

“That’d be nice,” he murmurs, and nods towards the kitchen. “Sit.”

The bags are left by the front door, and Jolee, Carth, and Malak sit at the table. Revan prepares the kettle to boil before joining them, and it’s funny like this, the four of them here. The fire’s nearly gone out and there’s a chill in the air, but that’s nothing compared to the feeling between Carth and Malak.

As she sits down, all she can notice is the way Carth won’t look at him. He won’t look at anyone, his eyes are focused on the smooth wooden surface of the table and his folded hands that rest there. Revan watches him with intent--cautious, but she’s impatient.

“Carth,” she starts. “What happened?”

Finally he looks up at her, and his warm brown eyes carry threads of worry but he shakes his head. “Are you sure you want to discuss it like this?”

Revan opens her mouth to question him, but Malak leans back in his seat and turns his head away, and just like that--she understands.

Just like that--her expression hardens. “He stays.”

“Revan,” Malak says, his voice quiet and resigned. “It’s fine, I can go.”

“No,” she defends, looking to Carth. “If whatever you have to say has to do with Malak, then he stays. He has a right.”

Carth lets out a long breath, and it’s exasperated and annoyed and everything she knows he feels already. She knows because they’ve _had this conversation before_. Multiple times--and it still doesn’t change.

Or maybe it _has_ changed, because she’s made promises to him that she can’t keep. Maybe it’s changed because Malak’s proven himself to be good, and trustworthy, and someone she genuinely cares about. She’s not about to let Carth kick him out like a stray dog.

But that doesn’t mean Carth’s going to give in.

“He hasn’t _earned_ the right,” he says. “The last time we met, he was Dark Lord of the Sith. Tell me that doesn’t inspire a sense of trust.”

She runs a frustrated hand through her hair--it’s always trust with him. She should’ve figured, considering how long it took him to open up to her, considering that it’s what he said when she first saved Malak’s life. _How will they be able to trust you?_ he’d asked, which meant, _how will I be able to trust you?_ which meant, _we’ve worked so hard to get here, but you were still willing to risk it._

Revan takes a moment to close her eyes, just a second. She knows it was a risk, but she still has to try: “I’m not asking you to trust him, I’m asking you to trust me.”

When she opens her eyes, all three men are watching her. Jolee with exhaustion written all over his features, Malak with a cautious expression that’s trying to read hers, and Carth, with his mouth loosening into something calmer.

“Fine,” he says, and though he spares a moment to glare at Malak, he turns to her and the line of his shoulders softens. There’s a sadness in the curve of his mouth when he says, “The Council knows.”

The words feel like being punched. They feel like that moment right before it happens, right when time warps into something slower, right before the violence is apparent. It goes missing. It’s the blacking out, it’s the dizziness that comes before the realization of what’s actually happened.

And then the thought underneath the realization: did that really just happen?

“Okay,” is all that comes out. _Okay_ is the only word she’s certain of as her mind processes that one single sentence. The Council knows about Malak. They know. There’s no going back now, only forward, and she knows, deep down, that she’ll do what she can to protect him.

“How?” is the next word out of her mouth.

The moment of impact. The realization.

And Carth clears his throat, his eyes watch her carefully, and she doesn’t think she imagines the way he hesitates before he says, “Bastila told them. She’s been...it’s been hard for her. She hasn’t been the same since she fell.”

“Okay,” she says again, but her mind is begging her to _react_. How can she be mad at Bastila for that? She remembers how shaken the girl was, how her already fragile confidence fell apart, and she asked for a way out. Revan’s left her to face the Council alone with the knowledge that Malak is still out there, and the guilt that follows that thought is heavy.

Revan glances at him, knowing that her guilt can’t compare to his beside her--the one who turned Bastila in the first place. He meets Revan’s gaze in that moment, and there’s a certain resignation in his eyes that makes her want to reach out--just to touch him, just to put her hand on him.

It’s not what she should want, and even so, it’s not what she does.

“Okay,” she says for a third time, finding it difficult to look away from Malak and back to Carth. When she does, all she can say is, “Guess I’ll have to talk to them, then.”

Because that’s it. She’s waited too long and now it’s out of her hands and her decision has been made for her. Her decision has been made because she thinks if she had the choice, this isn’t what she’d choose for herself.

But hasn’t it been wildly obvious this whole time? That she doesn’t know what to do?

“That’s it?” he asks. It’s not enough for Carth. It’s not enough for her to agree with him, because it has to be something more. Always something more.  

“What do you want me to say?” She doesn’t have any answers for him. She hardly has answers for herself, and as much as she cares for Carth, she’s never _had_ answers for him and he’s never understood. Back on Lehon, he’d told her that she didn’t have to be Revan, that she could be more.

_Whatever the Jedi did to you, they gave you that chance._

She’s been proving him otherwise ever since.

“I want you to say something else,” he answers, but as the seconds drag on, his expression sours. “Something more--something other than _okay_.”

Her eyes narrow as she tries to figure out what he really wants. It’s always more than one thing with Carth. Their first conversations held the threads of Saul Karath woven into every question, that betrayal looming over them and putting out tripwires for her to stumble over. _I’m not Saul_ , she told him one night in the cockpit, her voice harder than it had ever been with him.

His stubbornness has always pushed her to be harsher than she should be. She knows it’s the way he deals with it--the constant noise of their lives--and she knows she can’t just yell at him about how he should trust her, because that’s not how it works. Back then, she couldn’t ask for something she hadn’t yet proven.

_It’s not how it works_.

But she’s learned him the best that she could. She’s taken the time to get there with him, to find that understanding that softens the frustration. So some part of her feels hurt that after all this time that Carth’s known her, he expects her to have it all figured out.

Because that’s not how it works. That’s not who she is.

“I’m just--processing,” she explains, and there’s a strain in her voice that she doesn’t like. Some part of her knows that she needs to remain calm even as she feels the panic churning in her stomach. She tries to imagine herself standing in front of the Council and telling them what they already know: that she saved Malak’s life before she knew that he wanted to be redeemed. She went against what she knew was right, what she was told to do, and chose him over everything else.

Even worse, what she knows deep down: that she did it for very selfish reasons.

Revan glances at him again, and her chest feels tight when she thinks about where this is going to go from here. She’s not ashamed to admit that she’s afraid, but it’s what she’s afraid _of_.

This whole time she’s been told that the Jedi show mercy. They believe in redemption. _They don’t execute their prisoners_. Surely she understands this, she knows this for a fact, considering that she’s still here. They’ve proven themselves--if only for the sake that she doesn’t remember who she was--but she doesn’t know how far she can take that trust.

She doesn’t know if Malak’s the exception to the rule.

“Revan.”

It’s Jolee who says her name, and when she looks up, there’s concern in his tired eyes.

“Sorry, right. Yeah, I’m just...processing” she says, refocusing on their situation. Under the table, Malak’s knee presses against hers and she doesn’t look at him, but she’s grateful for the grounding touch. It gives her the push to turn to Carth and say, “I’ll come with you. That’s all I have. I’m not going to apologize for being here, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“You’re not sorry?” he says, his voice flat. His stare turns cold, and she watches the tick of his brow that, for just a half-second, turns down before he tilts his head. “You left us, Revan.”

But underneath that statement, there’s another: _You left me_.

She sighs. “This is what I chose. I told you that, and I told everyone that. You were the one who decided to leave.”

“I left because I wanted to help you!” It’s not quite a yell, but it’s almost there. It still makes her pause, makes her think of that day they watched Malak struggling in the medbay, when he told her Malak deserved to die. He seems to realize it, though, because his tone is much calmer when he says, “You left because you decided the past was more important than the future.”

Because if it’s always trust with him, then it’s always the past with her.

So it’s true, but she’s just as stubborn as him. “It’s not that it’s more important, it’s just...necessary. How am I supposed to go forward without it?”

“You were doing just fine before,” he answers.

But-- _You’ve never been fine, Revan_.

She almost glances at Malak, but keeps her gaze locked on Carth. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone--not you, and especially not Bastila--but you don’t know what it’s like to know that you’ve lived a life you don’t remember. Even worse--that I was the enemy of everything I’ve been fighting for. So no, I don’t think I was doing fine, but being here’s been an opportunity to get there.”

Under the table, Malak’s knee presses a little firmer against hers, and this time she sends him a grateful look. Across from her Jolee shakes his head to himself. “As much as I love listening to a lovers’ quarrel, this seems beside the point.”

Malak’s gaze is quick and sharp and it’s _on her_ \--she can feel it. She doesn’t look back, she glares at Jolee because he loves to stir up trouble, doesn’t he? She glares at Jolee and then she glares at Carth and somewhere underneath it all she might be angry, but she won’t give it a voice.

Instead, she says, “Right. So when do we leave?”

“As soon as you’re ready,” Carth answers

But Jolee shakes his head again. “Stay the night, at least. It’s already getting late.”

“You should sleep,” she suggests, watching the way his eyes blink slowly. It’s funny, as much as she jokes about Jolee being an old man, she forgets sometimes that he _is_ an old man. It’s only noticeable in the small moments, like when he gets tired from walking long distances with them, when she can tell he’s reading their lips because he can’t always hear what they’re saying, when--like tonight--his exhaustion clearly wears on him even as he’s sitting at the table.

“Maybe,” he says. “But then who would be the voice of reason?”

And honestly? It’s a fair point.

Jolee does go to bed, though. He gets up and they say their goodnights and he slips into his room. Her mind reaches back, tries to remind her of last night and the dark and stepping up to that door, her knuckles tapping softly against it, and Malak on the other side.

She glances at him now, where he’s gone to the fireplace to try and revive what’s left of the fire. The hut is cool and damp and it feels a bit hopeless, but she watches the curve of his back as he bends over it, his strong hands arranging the logs of wood and snapping smaller pieces for kindling.

Carth’s still at the table, one elbow propped up and his head resting on his fist. She sits down next to him after pouring their tea down the sink, but she doesn’t know what to say. It seems...simpler to her, now that the Council knows for certain, but Carth wants to complicate it. He wants to make it about them and their problems, and frankly everything’s starting to feel bigger than that.

It’s like, as much as she cares for Carth, and as close as they were over the past year, she knows she doesn’t owe him anything. For the most part they’ve had each other’s backs and she would trust him with her life-- _has_ , in fact, trusted him with her life, but that doesn’t mean he gets to come here and demand why she’s choosing herself over him.

Because that _is_ what it is, here. Here, she’s being selfish. Saving Malak, in the end, was a self-seeking thing to do, but somehow it’s turned into something else entirely. He went from someone who had the answers, to someone she genuinely wanted to keep around. Someone she genuinely feels connected to, and if that’s because of their shared history, she still doesn't know. She still doesn’t remember and that’s a problem, isn’t it? Because if the Jedi take him away, then there’s a chance she’ll never remember.

But even more than that, she’s scared of what will happen when she talks to the Council. They certainly can’t trust her, and they definitely won’t trust him. But if he goes to them, if he genuinely expresses his desire to change, if he tells them he’s dead to the Force, then they can’t turn him away, can they? If he goes to them for help, they’ll have to show mercy.

But the fear is that they won’t.

Because maybe they’ll look at him and decide it’s too dangerous. They hardly wanted to train her and she doesn’t _remember_ being a Sith. They’ve proven that they’ll do what it takes to win this war, and wouldn’t that have been nice before, with the Mandalorians? Now that they’re committed, how far will they go?

And besides that--how could he ever live anywhere that isn’t hidden away? No one knew what Revan looked like behind the mask, so without it she becomes an ordinary person. She’s able to blend into a crowd, but Malak? He’s too conspicuous. With his height, his tattoos, his _jaw_ , he’d never be able to go anywhere without someone recognizing him.

And that’s a danger in and of itself.

These thoughts carry on in the heavy silence of the hut, with nothing truly filling the space between the three of them. Malak’s still hunched over the fire, but it looks like it’s starting to spark to life, so he leans back and looks over his shoulder at her, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before his gaze drops.

Eventually he comes over, and both her and Carth’s attention is drawn to him as he sits back down with them. His long forearms lean forward against the smooth wood pattern of the table, and he doesn’t look at either of them when he says, “I need to talk to the Council.”

Revan’s stomach sinks even though she knows it’s the truth. She doesn’t want to bring him before them, but knows it’s as necessary as explaining her own actions. Her eyes stay on him this time, and when he looks up his eyes stay on hers, the surrendering in them making her heart ache. Her lips part for a moment before she says, “I think we both have a lot to answer for.”

It’s as much as she’ll agree with him.

He nods, and a beat of silence descends on them, heavy and uncomfortable. It sits between the three of them at the table, and Revan looks down at her hands, wishing she still had her mug of tea in front of her. Something else to focus on.

“So...the three of us,” she implies despite the awkwardness, despite the fact that it’s nearly tangible.

But Carth just says, “It’s been a long day.”

“Right.” It’s a way out of the conversation, but he must be tired after coming all the way here. “You can take my room, I don’t mind.”

If she knows Carth, she knows he’ll protest. And since she does know Carth, she isn’t surprised when he says, “Absolutely not.”

“If you want to sleep in the same room as Malak and Jolee, be my guest,” she argues, “but I don’t need my bed and I think you’d be a lot more comfortable in it.”

Her attempt to make that sound innocent falls flat, and the words feel uncomfortable in her mouth. Either way, Carth stares at her for a moment before sighing, his lips splitting into a defeated grin. “Still persistent, huh?”

She hums as she gets up, nodding towards the door. Some of the tension in her shoulders eases as she shows him to her room, left abandoned the past few days. Carth stands under the frame, and his eyes meet hers in the low light.

“I’d ask you to stay with me, but--” he pauses, and his expression shifts into something melancholic. “I get the feeling things are changing between us.”

She presses her lips together, nods.

A wave of understanding passes over his features. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we were?”

The potential for more, the excitement for more, the safety that they found with each other, even as fleeting as it was. Could they feel that again? She begs herself not to glance over her shoulder, where she knows Malak is still waiting in the kitchen, and forces herself to keep her eyes on his.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, because there isn’t a lot that she’s sure of right now. “I’m just trying to figure things out, so. Maybe I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Carth.”

This time he nods. “I know.”

“Goodnight,” she says, and Carth kisses her forehead before the door closes between them. When she turns around, Malak’s moved to the couch. His elbow rests on the arm, propping up his head as he stares at the fireplace. At the sound of her movement, his gaze flicks up to meet hers.

For a moment she stays where she is, frozen in place, just watching him from across the room. One of her hands presses back against the door, the other curls into a loose fist. They watch each other in the faint light of the room, just like last night, but at the same time it’s entirely different.

She closes her eyes for a moment, focusing on the press of her fingertips against solid wood, and opens them. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen on Coruscant, but she gets the feeling that it’s not going to be like this.

“Hey,” she says, and finally crosses the distance between them to sit on the other end of the couch. She wants to look at him but ends up staring at the fire, which never really got anywhere, burning out against what was a poor attempt to bring it back to life.

She knows the feeling.

It’s quiet for a few long moments, but then Malak says, “So...you and Carth?”

It’s enough of a suggestion, and it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. “That’s what you took away from all this?”

Because she expected him to talk about the Council. She expected him to bring up leaving, or even Carth’s obvious disdain for him--not Jolee’s idle comment about them being lovers. But when she looks over at Malak, he lifts a shoulder. She can tell by the tension in his brow that it’s not as nonchalant as he wants it to be.

“No,” she answers with an absent shake of her head. “Well, I thought...um. I don’t...it wasn’t...I don’t know. A lot of things changed when I found out the truth about who I am, even more changed when I saved your life.”

“Why?” he asks, and there’s such an urgency in his voice that she doesn’t understand until he continues, “Why did you save my life? It’s only caused you more trouble with your friends, and now with the Council, and it’s...unnecessary. You could be with him, you could be happy. I don’t--”

His voice breaks off as he looks away, and his profile is dark but still there. He’s still _here_ , and she doesn't know how much longer that’ll be true.

_You could be with him, you could be happy--_ She doesn’t think she’s _been_ happy, and even if she was, she isn’t sure that Carth would be the reason for it. The problem is, she doesn’t know how to say this to Malak without explaining the past month, and maybe the ten months before that, too.  

“He wanted a future with me,” she starts, uncertain but committed. “He said he wanted to give me a future, but I knew that meant giving up the past. He can’t accept it. He doesn’t want me to be Revan and I can’t blame him for that, but. It’s still who I am.”

“Now there’s an old argument,” he says. “Wouldn’t you rather have that than the past?”

“No,” she answers automatically, and neither of them look at each other as she continues, “I think...this morning was the first time I’ve been happy in a while, and that wasn’t because of Carth.”

There’s a shift in his body, she can feel it beside her, but can’t move her gaze from the fire. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, and as much as it wasn’t an admission of anything, it feels like it could’ve been.

“Revan,” she hears him say, but her brow just turns down. She doesn't want him to make her happy. She doesn’t want to think about this morning, when she first woke up and he was still there, when she curled into his side and breathed in his warmth, felt the rise and fall of his chest. She doesn’t want to think about it, because she knows it’s not something she’ll get to keep.

With the Council knowing he’s still alive, any decision they make will still keep them apart. Whether he lives or dies, whether they imprison him or allow him to redeem himself, they still wouldn’t approve of the two of them. They still wouldn’t let anything happen.

And maybe that’s what scares her the most, that part of her just...doesn’t care. Part of her would be willing to throw it all away again, and she knows she shouldn’t. She doesn’t owe Malak anything, she doesn’t have any reason to feel this way, but--

She does. And it’s there. And she doesn’t know what to do about it.

She doesn’t know what to _say_ , but it doesn’t matter. Malak reaches over, his hand finds hers in the dim light, and he threads their fingers together. Her heart continues to pound away, and this is it, isn’t it? This is the now before the never.

Finally, Revan looks at him. His eyes are steady on her, but they narrow when she curls her legs up so she can kneel beside him on the couch. She brings her other hand up to meet their embrace, and the dark covers him as her fingertips ghost over his cool skin, stretching out his fingers so she can line hers up with his, palm to palm.

“Tell me” she says, and don’t his eyes look so dark right now? The shadows pool in the hollow spaces of his skin but she can see the intensity in his stare. “Please...just tell me what I’m missing.”

“Don’t,” he says, and the darkness falls away to something sorrowful, something so sad she can’t breathe. They’re talking about it, but they’re not talking about it, and he pulls her hand over to him, his gaze still focused on her, and places her palm against the cool metal of his jaw, right where his lips would be.

He leans into it, turning his face down. Their bodies have always been better at asking the questions their mouths can’t.

“I want you to remember,” he says, his voice a soft vibration against her hand. Her thumb glides over the smooth plane, and she wonders where they’d be right now if he didn’t have it. She wonders what would happen if he could press her palm to his lips, if he could kiss her hand and she could lean in and replace it with her mouth--

“What if I can’t?” she asks, because she thinks she still wants him even if that’s not what they were before, and that feels messed up but maybe she’s messed up. Maybe she has this whole thing backwards. Maybe she’s self-sabotaging, dragging herself into something that’ll just hurt her in the end.

Is that what she wants? To be hurt?

_You’re already hurt_ , her mother says, and Revan feels something nameless bordering on anger, and it hits her so hard that she pulls her hand away from Malak, but--

“Hey,” he says gently, and he’s slow to move, obvious with his intentions as he draws her into his side. She goes easily enough, with her face pressed against his robes, her whole body tumbling towards his on the couch until she’s curled up against him. He shifts his weight so he can lean back, his grip strong on her as he wraps his arm around her. She can feel the press of his jaw against the top of her head, and feels it when he says, “I have to believe you will.”

Revan closes her eyes. She finds it easier to talk like this, without looking, while just touching. “Would you still care if I didn’t?”

He doesn’t answer for the longest time, and Revan’s left with the silence and the sound of his beating heart. Here he is: alive beneath her. Less than a month ago they stood on the Star Forge with violence like a sharp knife between them, cutting away the possibility of this.

But here she is: the choice was made and she wouldn’t take it back. She knows now that if she could do it again, she wouldn’t change anything, even if this is where it ends.

Even if this is where he tells her he’ll only care if she remembers.

But that’s not what he says. That’s not what happens. What happens is he tightens his grip, and the silence stretches on, but when he finally breaks it, it’s with a soft hum and, “My entire life has been built around you, Rev. I didn’t stop caring about you even when I hated you. I’m not going to stop now.”

She thinks about that day in the woods, when they hurled ugly words at each other. _I still kriffing care about you, and I hate it,_ he’d admitted. It wasn’t that long ago, and it didn’t mean anything to her then, but it makes it easier to trust him now, knowing that he still said the same thing in his anger.

“Okay,” she says. It’s not what she should say. She should say, _I care about you too._ She should say, _I don’t know why or how, but suddenly you’re one of the most important people in my life. Is that because of before? Do I care because of association, or am I always meant to care about you? Is this who I am?_

No, she doesn’t say any of that.

Instead she says, “And what about the Council?”

“What about them?” he asks, and this time she tips her head back so she can see him. He doesn’t look upset, but there’s a vague sense of wariness in his features. His brows, particularly, dip at the center, and he tilts his face down to see hers.

They’re very close, but her voice sounds distant when she asks, “Are you sure you want to talk to them?”

His answer is just the shake of his head and, “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Not what I asked,” she says with a small smirk.

“It’s been a long time,” he offers, and takes a breath before tilting his head back to rest on the couch. Revan’s left with the sight of his neck, the skin pale and taut at the edges of his metal jaw. “I’m not expecting anything good to come from it.”

_...What happens if they come here and take me away? Imprison me? Execute me?_

_...It wouldn’t be the wrong thing to do._

_...Promise me...that if it comes down to protecting me, or protecting yourself, you’ll choose yourself._

Has he just been waiting for this the whole time?

“And yet you’ll still do it,” she says, her brows quirking down as she tries to understand him.

“Like I said, it’s the right thing to do.”

She bites down on the frustration that rises in her throat. “Malak, you know you don’t have to punish yourself for what you’ve done, right?”

“Someone has to,” he says, and he says it with such confidence that something twists in her chest. Is she part of that punishment? Why subject yourself to a situation where your best friend suddenly can’t remember your entire lives spent together, when all it brings is pain? Does being with her hurt him?

She may not remember much, but she doesn’t think she’s felt as in the dark as she does right now.

“I think they’ll be angry,” she says. “But I have to believe that they’ll give you a second chance.”

His eyes watch her for a long moment before turning away, straight ahead of them towards the fire. He watches it and he breathes long and slow and her knees still dig into his thigh, but his arm tugs her a little closer as he shifts his weight, saying, “I don’t want to talk about it. Just--come here.”

His grip on her tightens as he draws his legs up and stretches him across the length of the couch, repositioning her into the space between him and the back of it. His body’s so large but fits well enough in this small space with her, even though she’s half on top of him.

“You should go to bed,” she mumbles, but it’s half hearted. This--this feels so natural, and comfortable, and it eases the stress locked in her shoulders. It she feels like she can breathe again.

“Don’t want to,” he mumbles back, and his thumb draws circles into her waist. She doesn’t think about it, just breathes long and slow and lets the feeling fall over her, draw her in, and comfort her in a way she thinks she should be wary of.

“We can’t stay like this all night, or Carth will hate you even more than he does already.”

To her surprise, Malak laughs. “You know, I almost thought it would be okay, but I know I’ve given him every reason to hate me. It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

And she wants to reassure him, but-- “Probably.”

When she looks up at him he’s already watching her, and it’s funny how it’s the same face. It’s funny how the first time she saw him, she had no idea that he was going to change her life in such a significant way. She still remembers the feeling of that blast door opening and him standing behind it, larger than life, and all he was to her in that moment was the enemy.

Now she wants to believe he’s something else.

“I wish we could start over--that I could know you from the beginning.”

His expression softens, but he just says, “There’s no use in wishing.”

“Indulge me.” She brings her arms up to rest on his chest, her chin on her hands, and there’s a tired smile on her lips. “What would you wish for?”

And he watches her and watches her and watches her, and she doesn’t think she imagines the way his eyes drop to her lips, just for a moment before he answers, “More time.”

He says it so plainly, and right. Her expression evens out and she settles back down against him, unwilling to follow that thought any further. His hand stills and his arm wraps around her waist, hugging her close, and he lets out a long breath.

She tries to match it, closing her eyes. “Just for a little bit, okay?”

He hums some kind of content noise and she hates that it brings a smile to her lips. She hates that she nuzzles into his chest, because he smells good and comforting and it’s a home she doesn’t know, but it’s hard to deny that that’s what it feels like.

She hates it because she can feel herself drift off, her thoughts slowing down as her breaths even out and she falls asleep.

\--

She doesn’t dream.

\--

There’s a hand on her shoulder as she wakes up, and she thinks she hears someone say her name, but it’s always strange to come out of sleep when you’re not ready to. Her body still feels heavy, and when she opens her eyes she’s still on the couch, her head on a pillow instead of Malak, and when she looks up, Jolee’s standing in front of her.

“Hey kid,” he says, and there’s a wry smile on his lips. “Might want to wake up, I think Carth’s hoping to get an early start.”

She groans for a moment before sitting up. The rest of the hut is empty, but there’s a fire going and a couple of mugs on the kitchen table. Her brow furrows for a moment as she looks up at Jolee. “Where is he?”

“Went for a walk,” he says as he walks back towards the table. “With Malak,” he adds, looking behind him with a grin.

Revan suddenly feels wide awake. “The two of them are alone?”

Jolee nods.

“They’re gonna kill each other,” she says, getting up. Her body’s sore, and she wants to know how long Malak stayed with her last night. She’d love to know how she managed to sleep through him leaving, how she wasn’t stirred by someone building the fire and someone obviously drinking caffa, given the empty mug left on the table.

“I think they might surprise you,” Jolee offers as he fills the kettle with water. “Or maybe not. I’m glad _you’re_ the one that’ll be traveling with the two of them.”

She almost laughs. “Don’t remind me.”

Jolee just smiles as he puts the kettle on, and he goes to the pot on the stove and scoops out some oatmeal, setting it in front of her. “You’ll be okay.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asks, lifting the spoon. She needs some sort of reassurance here, because she’s not going to get it from Malak or Carth. The former believes that this is the end for him, and the latter hopes it is. Jolee--well, he might offer some sort of hope.

She’s certainly not going to provide it for herself.

“They might be angry, but the Jedi are nothing, if not reliable in adhering to the code. They’ll show him mercy, even if it’s the last thing they want to do,” he says, and Force she hopes he’s right.

Revan hums as she swallows a bite of sticky, plain oatmeal, and something comes over Jolee’s expression as he watches her. His eyes narrow and his lips quirk to one side as he leans back in his seat. “You care about him.”

There’s a strange feeling that creeps up on her as she considers her answer, but she doesn’t think it has to do with Malak. It’s in the way Jolee looks at her, pinning her in place, and it’s like if she could just see past his amused expression there would be something else there.

Something about it feels...off.

But the kettle whistles loudly between them, and she’s grateful for the extra moment it allows her to think of an answer.

“He’s been helping me,” she says after Jolee gets up. It’s true enough, she supposes, he’s told her enough about her past for her to understand the bigger picture. It’s helpful as much as it heightens her desire to remember on her own. She just wants to remember him, the entirety of him, their whole relationship-- “He knows...almost everything about me. It’s intimidating, but I need him.”

‘Of course he does,” Jolee says, and returns to the table with two steaming cups of tea. “That’s how it goes when you share life with someone.”

His brow dips and he looks away and Revan thinks about when he first told her about Nayama. It’s always the same: regret, wistfulness, a longing for the past. Jolee had a _wife,_  he had someone he chose over everything else, and he still lost her. Are any of them meant for happiness?

“But I didn’t choose that,” she says. “I mean, obviously it was me, but it wasn’t _me_ , and I don’t know if I feel like I owe him something or if I genuinely...I don’t know.”

How does she admit this to Jolee? How could she possibly say that her gut’s telling her that not only was something happening between her and Malak then, but that it’s still happening _now_? She’s not even being subtle when she asks, “You and Malak talk a lot. Does he--”

“Oh no,” he interrupts. “I’m not telling you anything you shouldn’t figure out yourself.”

“What if I _have_ figured it out?”

Jolee goes to lift his mug to his lips but pauses. They’re not joking anymore, they haven’t been for some time, but the mood between them shifts into something infinitely more serious as he says, “You better be damn sure.”

But she’s not sure. She’s only guessing, and Malak isn’t making it any easier. Like last night-- _Force_ , last night they didn’t even _say anything_. Whatever’s happening between them...she wants answers, not half-truths spoken through touch.

It’s not Jolee’s responsibility, though, so she changes the subject: “I know your secret.”

“Which secret is this?” he asks, and she’s grateful that he lets it go. She’s grateful that his expression softens as he finally takes a sip of tea.

“The mystery novels.”

He rolls his eyes. “I should’ve known sonny would tell you.”

“Your taste is truly--” she doesn’t get to finish the thought. The front door opens and Malak and Carth walk through. Both of their gazes land on her, and suddenly she’s very much not looking forward to being alone with them.

“Good morning,” Carth says as he comes closer, and he touches her shoulder as he passes by. “Will you be ready to go soon?”

Jolee raises a brow at her like _see?_ , but she scrunches her face at him. She’s more mystified by the fact that Carth and Malak were alone together. Is it any more challenging than the thought of her and Malak? She knows Carth’s stubbornness, but she knows Malak’s desire to fix things, too.

But they’re both still here, so--it couldn’t have gone too badly.

“I, uh--” she starts, and she glances at Malak, whose expression is blank enough that it has to be forced. She doesn’t know what to say other than, “Yeah, give me a few minutes.”

Malak looks at her but he disappears into his room, Carth nods and disappears into the bathroom, and Revan has to look at Jolee like _what am I going to do?_

He just grins wickedly in return.

“Evil man,” she says, and downs the rest of her tea before getting up from the table.

\--

Jolee at least has the courtesy to walk them to the lift, meaning the three of them don’t have to interact quite yet. Her and Carth trail behind him and Malak, much like last night, and she listens to Carth tell stories about Mission, which seems like a safe topic between them.

Apparently she’s been getting along too well with his son, Dustil.

Revan smiles at his concern, and tells him he’s just being a dad towards both of them, which is a good thing considering he once thought he’d lost that opportunity. Underneath her responses, though, is that desire to ask about this morning, ask what happened between him and Malak, but she doesn’t feel right bringing it up just yet.

The lift is ahead of them and the sight sets her nerves on edge. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen from here on out, it’s a wait and see kind of situation, and all she can do is get on that lift, get on that ship, and go to Coruscant.

Jolee and Malak wait for them to catch up, and when they do, Jolee reaches for her and pulls her into a hug.

“Stay sharp, kid,” he says with his arms around her.

“I will,” she murmurs back, and when she pulls away she offers, “I’ll reach out as soon as I can, with...whatever news.”

But his answering smile is sad, and it makes her feel like he doesn’t think she will. It’s foreboding in some way, disquieting something even further within her, but she doesn’t have the mindset to analyze it. Jolee hugs Malak next, just a quick thing, but Malak has to bend down to hold him and Revan smiles to herself.

Jolee claps Carth on the shoulder next, saying, “Keep an eye on these two--they’re trouble.”

“I’ll do my best,” Carth says in return, his mouth bending into something resembling a grin.

She feels his hand at the small of her back and she knows--yeah, she knows it’s time to go. The three of them step onto the lift, but when Revan meets Jolee’s gaze one more time, there’s something about it. It’s something deep down, something unsettled, and it tells her this might the last time she’ll see him. She doesn’t know what it is, she doesn’t know if she can trust the feeling, but it still has her rushing towards him for another hug.

If anything can be said for how tight his arms are around her, he might feel the same way.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. “For everything.”

He doesn’t say anything in return, but when they break apart his expression has quieted into something sad, and he shakes his head once as he takes a step back.

Behind her, Carth and Malak are still standing side by side on the lift. Carth’s always been tall, but even he looks small in comparison, and she offers them both a smile that’s not really a smile. Just the press of her lips as she steps beside them, saying goodbye to this time in her life.

Jolee doesn’t wait to watch them leave. He nods at the three of them and takes a step back, then another step back, and then he turns and walks away as the lift shudders and rises from the ground.

Revan keeps her gaze on the line of his shoulders, watching his back as he disappears into the dark green haze of the forest.

Just like they found him.

She clears her throat, looking away, looking up into the vertical lines of the trees. The canopy sits above them, and it’s waiting for her. She’s rising to meet it, and she doesn’t know what she’ll find on the other side.

She doesn’t think she knows anything at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> revan's breaking down and this chapter is a mess. a couple of slightly uncomfortable things happen, so i'll put content warnings in the end notes. if you have any questions feel free to message me @ lordmalak on tumblr!
> 
> also, sincerely, thank you so much to everyone who's reading this. i have so much love for you <3

A sea of stars. Space like water. It blurs the tiny points of light until they become shapeless and malleable against the speed of the ship. Light bends around them, light bends in to meet them--light upon light--contrasting the dark and deep corners of space. Against that flat expanse, it softens into nothing at all.

Starlight rushing at Revan’s eyes as she keeps them fixed on the viewport, here in the cockpit of the _Ebon Hawk_. In this new life, it’s the closest thing she has to a home.

She sits in the copilot’s seat beside Carth, listening to the familiar sounds of the ship navigating the hyperspace lanes. It’s his hands on the console, his focus, the way he always looks over at her once they’re on autopilot, his lips curling into a grin.

And even here, even like this, his head turns towards her and she watches him smile like it could be the days of running back and forth between Manaan and Tatooine and Kashyyyk. It could be the days of having a full crew, a ship full of life, instead of the two of them in the cockpit with Malak settling into the dorms.

It’s been hours since they first stepped onto that lift, leaving Jolee and the forest floor behind them. It’s been hours since they stood in stony silence that bordered on something loud and visible between the three of them--the only words were just fragments of conversations and questions that required short answers.

But there are no short answers. Not here, at least, and especially not with Carth. It’s the first time they’ve been alone since he came down with Jolee, and all Revan’s trying to do is come up with something to say that won’t damage them any further.

At this point, she isn’t sure what that would be.

“How much trouble do you think I’ll be in?” she asks, which might not be safe, but it’s something to fill the quiet.

“I don’t know,” he answers absently, but he’s watching her that way he does when he has something on his mind. She’s learned by now not to push it, to allow him to come to it on his own. “I want to believe that they’ll trust your judgment, but the fact is you’ve not only spared the life of a Sith Lord, you also hid it from them.”

His voice is so monotonous as he says it, she can feel her chest ache. “It’s not that simple.”

He half laughs as his brows rise and fall in a moment before he leans back in his seat. He doesn’t look at her now, his eyes are fixed somewhere beyond the ship, but he says, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“What do you mean?”

“You trust him.” It’s not a question. Just a flat, empty statement that Revan can’t refute. He must know that, given the way he glances at her.

“This is...bigger than I thought it would be,” she explains, which isn’t much of an explanation at all. “ _He’s_ not what I thought he would be.”

“So, what? He’s proven himself to you? Has he done anything to show you that he’s trustworthy?”

Water in her lungs, panic in her throat, the thrashing of her body in the lake before he pulled her out. How gentle his voice was when he told her she never knew her parents, and then he’d held her close. How gentle he was explaining the tragedy of the past, the fear of the future, the solid ground of the inbetween. It’s the two of them and it’s always _been_ the two of them, and she doesn’t know how she could explain that to Carth.

“What are you trying to say?” she asks.

“I--” he stops. “I’ve spent all this time worrying about you. Since the minute I left, I’ve been trying to find a way for you to get out of this when there _isn’t one_. Then I come all the way back to Kashyyyk, only to find out Jolee left you alone with him. I can’t make sense of it in my head. You willingly put yourself in a dangerous situation, and you didn’t even seem to mind.”

“You’re upset about this _now?_ ” she asks, because it’s a little late, isn’t it? What’s done is done and she can’t do anything about it. Malak’s on the ship with them at this very moment, and if Carth has a problem with it, he should’ve spoken up sooner.

But he just sighs, saying, “No. I’m trying to make a point.”

“What point?” she asks. “You know I could’ve handled myself if he tried to hurt me.”

The thought feels preposterous, but it’s not like it hadn’t crossed her mind. She’d be foolish if it didn’t. The idea that Malak’s been waiting--biding his time before he exacts his revenge--it’s not like it would’ve been impossible.

But that’s not what happened.

“You trust him,” Carth says. “And I want to know why.”

She knows, though. She knows that’s not it with Carth because that’d be too simple, and it’s never that simple with him. “Look, I don’t expect you and Malak to get along--”

He shakes his head. “I told you I met him before, right?”

“Yes.”

He takes a breath. “It was just a brief encounter, but he was...he stood out, you know? Both in the obvious way, and the way that he handled himself. There was a confidence about him, a sense of life and energy that’d been missing from the war. He was a hero, and hell, I looked up to him even though he was just a kid.”

There’s always something about hearing about a younger Malak that breaks her heart. Knowing that she’s the one who turned him, she’s the one who ruined him, and yet he still wants to punish himself for what he’s done.

All she can do is stay quiet as Carth continues. “Talking with him today, I saw glimpses of that same kid. It surprised me, but--I still can’t see past what he’s done, Revan. I can’t understand how you’re able to trust him when we know what he’s capable of.”

She frowns. “But you know what I’m capable of.”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t see how,” she says. “It was still me. This mind, these hands, this body. I made choices, and just because I don’t remember making them doesn’t mean I’m not still...capable. That doesn’t mean that once I remember, I won’t go back to what I was.”

“Why do you always go there? Why is it that everyone believes you’re not Revan except for you?” he asks in return, his voice more harsh than it has been.

It’s enough to push her frustration over the edge. “Because I _am_ Revan! This is just--just a fraction in comparison to my whole life _being_ Revan. I’m not that false identity--whoever I was supposed to be when I woke up on the _Endar Spire_. I’m not anything. I’m just...a ghost, trying to come back to life.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” he argues. “The person I met on the _Endar Spire_ , that person who led us through every situation, that’s who you are. You’ve done so many things to prove that you’re good, that you follow the light, so I don’t see how you can believe otherwise.”

That she’s _good_ , that she _follows the light_. These things feel so meaningless now. What do they matter in the face of the truth? This is bigger than just light or dark, it’s recovering a life that touched on both, and to be blindly devoted to one or the other feels foolish.

She watches him and he watches her in return. He offers, “I can start calling you Eslin again, if you’d like.”

 _Eslin Averre_. The name feels dead to her now, the only evidence of a life that existed for just a moment. Still, it eases the tension in the room. “I can’t be that person anymore--not completely. And I’m not expecting you to understand why I trust Malak, but you can’t be angry at one of us and not the other. We’re the same.”

Finally Carth looks away, and the trail of stars brushes over his profile. The shifting light reflects across his face, ghosting over his hair and that familiar jacket. He sighs. “It’s not fair. Forgiveness--it doesn’t feel fair. I’m done being angry about it, Revan, but it’s hard to let go of.”

She doesn’t understand. “Carth, what did you and Malak talk about this morning?”

“Morgana, of all things,” he answers, and his voice sounds far, far away.

“Morgana?” she repeats, and she can feel her mouth twist the word in confusion. “Why?”

There’s a short pause, and she can’t take her eyes off of him. Carth doesn’t always give himself away, but it’s rare that he’s this stoic. “We needed to understand each other.”

Revan remembers when Carth first told her about losing his wife. He’d kept such a steady voice, but she could tell it still broke him inside, that it continued to break him every day and he just glossed over it. He knows it hurts him as much as he tries not to allow it to. She’d felt sick at the time, angry at the Revan and Malak she’d been told about, not at all prepared for the Revan and Malak that they are.

But now? She doesn’t understand how Morgana links Carth and Malak together, how she bridges the gap enough to make Carth question whether or not he could trust Malak. Revan takes a steadying breath, still watching him, still trying to figure it out. “Did it help?”

“I didn’t want it to, but it did” he admits, his voice soft. “It helped, but I hate it.”

Perhaps some part of it clicks into place--the tragedy and the blame. Carth lost everything and sought vengeance for it. He sought Saul Karath’s death and once he found it, it didn’t make anything better. So Malak carried the blame, but now that Malak’s trying to fix it, Carth has nothing left but the truth of the situation--that horrible things can happen and sometimes all you’re left with are your own hands, and there’s nothing you can do to fill them again.

There’s nowhere left to put the blame.

“So you think it would help if I told you why I trust him?” she asks.

Carth just nods, but he finally looks over at her.

“He knows me,” she says, and that’s the truth at the very core of it, but it’s not enough. “He knows me, and he knows how to help me. He’s the one constant in my life--trusting him is all I’ve ever done.”

Carth deflates, and she knows it doesn’t help him. He doesn’t have history with Malak--just a chance encounter before their fall, and then the aftermath of it. Carth has been on the receiving end of every bad thing they’ve done.

“I don’t know what else to say,” she murmurs, and her eyes meet the warm brown of his. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice is quiet but still present, still here with her. “You’re right. It’s not simple.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence between them. It drags and drags and Revan doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know where they could go from here. Too much has happened between them and since them, and it’s getting harder to distinguish what matters now.

“I should check on Malak,” she says, getting up from her seat.

He doesn’t respond at first, there’s just the sound of her footsteps against the floor, but she’s nearly out of the cockpit when he calls out, “Revan?”

Turning around, she watches Carth get up as well. He draws closer to her, and the two of them stand in front of the galaxy map, the space alive with the ghost of memories she _does_ have. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember that day, right before the Star Forge, you and me on the beach?”

 _I think I could love you, if you give me the chance_. She rarely thinks about those words these days, too caught up in everything else that’s happening in her life. That should say something, shouldn’t it? Doesn’t that indicate that it’s not as important to her as it once was?

“Of course,” she says anyways, because she does remember, and that applies to only so many things in her life.

Carth takes a step closer, and his eyes are on her as he shakes his head to himself. “I think about it all the time, and I--I still want that. I don’t want things to change between us.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but there’s no answer. There’s some kind of feeling in her chest, and as he steps even closer, she finds it resembles that feeling of knocking on Malak’s door that night--they’re teetering on the edge of something she can’t explain.

His gaze drops to her lips before returning to her eyes, and no, they’ve never kissed but she doesn’t think it would change anything.

Would it change anything?

“Can I--?” he murmurs, his voice dropping out as they breathe in the same space, and Revan doesn’t know what to do. It’s heady, being this close to someone, feeling the heat of his body. Her hands move to his chest, and it feels inevitable at this point, so drawn in that she can’t back away.

 _Don’t do it_ , some part of her begs herself even as she tilts her face up towards his. He’s only a few inches taller than her, so it’s incremental, but it makes all the difference in the world.

Because it’s not just the angle of her head, it’s not just their proximity. It’s an _invitation_ , whether she wants it to be or not.

An invitation that Carth takes.

One moment she’s looking at him, and the next she feels the wet press of his lips against hers. He’s gentle with it, one of his hands cups her cheek and the other settles against her waist, and it feels safe--it does.

But all that goes through her mind is the vague sense that this isn’t right--that it shouldn’t feel this empty.

The second she goes to pull away, though, she feels something else. It’s a familiar feeling, one she felt with Malak when they sparred that first time: like being in two places at once. It’s the thread of a memory, of a kiss hidden somewhere in the back of her mind, and it comes to life.

 _Oh_ , it comes to life.

This kiss beneath the kiss, alive and whole and _wanted_. She pushes into it, feels it in her whole body, opens her mouth against his. It’s hot like desire, like pain, like pleasure. It’s like her whole body’s aflame and awake--vividly and unconcernedly awake. It’s the most real she’s ever felt, and she chases it.

Some part of her knows she shouldn’t, knows this isn’t the right person, but she doesn’t know who it is in her memory. She knows who she wants it to be, and she loses herself in that thought. Loses herself in the whole of it, registering only his hands on her body, his lips on hers, and the idea that she’s been kissed before with love in every stitch of it.

Foolishly, she opens her eyes. Perhaps it’s to chase the memory, to see who’s on the other side of it, but she finds only Carth there. Her stomach sinks as she realizes what she’s done, impulsively and selfishly, and he pulls away. His breathing is still heavy, but he smiles at her--the softest, sweetest thing.

Revan feels...sick. She can’t help the absent shake of her head as she takes a step back. “I--I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment, but understanding blooms in his eyes, and his smile disappears from his expression. That understanding comes over him and his gaze narrows. “Really?”

“I...I should...go.” Her voice is just a breath and she’s wary of how he’s going to react. She’s wary of everything and she’s only making it worse, isn’t she?

So she doesn’t give him the chance. She backs out of the cockpit and turns down the corridor, the only thought on her mind is that her hands are shaking, and she’d really like for them to stop.

 _You haven’t changed at all, have you?_ her mother asks. _You’d use anyone to get what you want._

 _Leave me alone_ , Revan replies, stepping into the main hold. She takes a breath, then another, and tries not to think about the look on Carth’s face. She tries not to think about the way his smile fell as he realized that this wasn’t what she wanted, even if her body was saying otherwise.

How do you explain something like that to someone?

She feels...weird. Panicked. She shouldn’t have done that. She absolutely, completely should not have done that, but. She _did_ do it. She did it and it’s done and--what’s worse--some part of her thinks it was worth it.

What’s _worse_ \--some part of her is glad for it. To experience a shred of something good from her past, to know that she once had something like that, it makes her feel a little less alone. It’s the knowledge that someone so obviously loved her, and--

Maybe her mother’s right. She’d use anyone.

Revan needs to meditate. Her breathing's out of rhythm and it's making her head feel light. Everything feels the slightest bit wrong, like her body knows something’s off, and the desire comes over her all at once: to settle down, center herself, and find some kind of alignment again.

She turns down the corridor towards the cargo hold. Her and Bastila used to spend hours upon hours here, often with Juhani or Jolee. That was _before_. Before she was Revan, before Bastila turned to the dark side. Revan didn’t know how easy she had it at that time, to live her life without the burden of another. She couldn’t have seen it that way then, but that’s what’s funny about life, isn’t it? That in the present, it’s hard to know what you’ll miss in the future.

Thankfully, the cargo hold is empty, and Revan feels her whole body shift as she settles down onto her knees. She closes her eyes, whites out the noise of her mind, and breathes and breathes and breathes.

\--

The thing about the Force is--

It's there, but it isn’t.

It exists in all things, in all forms of life, but it's not for consumption. Using it requires focus, dedication, and years of practice to harness its power.

Some are more prone to access it. Some have an easier time reaching out to it, but it resists as much as it guides. It leads more than it follows.

Revan knows her strength in the Force is limited. She knows she's coming into it late in the game, guided only by the lingering effects of her past. She hasn't been trained for long--just under a year, now--and even so, her power comes back to her in waves.

Like most things in her life, it'd be easier if she could remember--if she knew how she dominated it in her past life. Because the Force has a will, but so did she, and Revan suspects that these two things did not always align.

But that's the thing--she can feel the echoes of this past command over the Force. Its strength has been her strength, and--at times--has been overwhelmingly under her control.

So it's there, but it isn’t.

Because as much as she taps into it, as much as she feels it, it's not always ready. Her and the Force are one step out of sync. She can feel its will but she can't change it, and truthfully, she doesn't know if she’d want to. Right now? She doesn't trust herself to make the right decision.

It could be there, and someday it might be there, but right now, head bent, meditating in the cargo hold, it's like staring into the heart of the Force but being unable to touch it. It's the idea that it's there for the taking, but some invisible barrier stands in the way. She could have it all, but it isn't time yet.

_It's there, but it isn’t._

\--

She’s left alone the whole time.

As she meditates, she can sense everything aboard the ship. The ticks of the hyperdrive, the soft mechanical sounds that get lost in the background, the presence of both Malak and Carth as they move around, never coming too close to her but briefly interacting with each other.

She doesn’t listen, she just reaches out. She tries to understand the truth of herself, tries to tap into the strength she’ll need in order to face what Coruscant’s going to mean. To face the Council again, with Malak this time, and nothing to explain it other than her selfish desires.

(And isn’t that funny? All she has are selfish desires).

But time passes as it always does on ships. It’s slow at first, like a spoonful of honey over her tea. There’s the stillness before the slow drop, then the momentum that pulls it further and faster. It’s not far between Kashyyyk and Coruscant, so as Revan slows her meditation to a stop, she’s unsure of how much time is left.

And it’s always strange to come back to yourself. It’s always strange to open your eyes and see the physical world around you once more. It takes a moment, a couple of deep breaths, the steadying of the self before anything feels right again.

Revan comes back to life in steps. Reaching her hands out, she touches her palms to the cool metal floor--to not only be aware of her surroundings, but to feel it as well. It’s always easier on the ship, the mechanical life is jarring enough to bring her out of her meditative state in mere seconds.

From there it’s the gradual awakening, until she’s standing once more and her thoughts are once again reminded of she’s done.

And, well, of all the choices she has to live with, at least it’s one she made for herself.

\--

She finds Malak in the main hold.

He’s sitting in the seat closest to the storage compartment, and there’s an image of Coruscant on the holoprojector. It lights up the planes of his face, which he turns up to watch her enter. Clicking off the datapad in his hands, he sets it aside and shifts his weight.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t sit down. She stands under the circular entryway, meets his gaze, and feels her whole mind stutter. What if she just told him? What if she looked him in the eye and said, _Carth kissed me, but it felt more like a memory. I don’t know who I’ve kissed in the past, but I hope it was you._

She hates herself for even thinking the words. And she hates him for being so gentle with her. She hates the way he always pulls her in, pulls her close, touches her like there could be love there, but he won’t say anything about it. They didn’t talk about _anything_ that last night at Jolee’s. She tried going near it and he wouldn’t help her and she knows, she _knows_ , that she asked him to police her memories, but this one doesn’t feel right anymore.

She won’t ask, though--or at least not now, not as she steps into the room and draws closer to him. She’s always drawing closer to him but this time she leans against the holoprojector, keeping distance between them. She can’t touch him right now, can’t let herself get lost in the feeling.

He watches her, and there's something in his gaze that’s trying to read her, trying to see beneath the surface of her carefully neutral expression. It’s a test of how well he can see through her, if he can pick up on the fact that something went very wrong earlier, given very little evidence.

And it _was_ wrong. She doesn’t feel any better about using Carth like that, doesn’t feel any better knowing exactly what he wants from her, knowing that she can’t give it to him. For just that one moment they both got what they wanted, but it’s not the same thing at all.

“Hi,” she says to Malak now, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s tight and it’s comforting, and it gives her the strength to look him in the eye.

“Hi,” he says back, and his voice is gentle, which makes her think that he knows something’s wrong. Still, his expression is soft when he says, “It’s been a little while.”

She breathes out a laugh at that. They’ve been in each other’s pockets for days now, but being apart’s been a break she isn’t sure that they needed. “Miss me?”

He looks away for a moment. Doesn’t answer. Instead he asks, “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to the Council?”

“It depends on what they say to me.”

“Let me guess: Why did you risk everything by saving Malak, and then not even tell us so we could use our superior wisdom to guide you?”

She snorts. “That’s a good question.”

“Do you have an answer?” he asks, and his head tilts slightly in question. There’s a joking tone to both of their voices, but there’s a serious undercurrent that’s drawing closer to the surface and neither of them can quite avoid it.

“I don’t know,” she says. “And even if I do have answers, I don’t know if they’ll be enough.”

His brow comes down. “What do you mean?”

“I have to ask myself what the Council expects from me, and yeah, I know I let them down. I know I made a mistake, but I can’t be sorry about it. They--they want me to put their interests above my own, and maybe that’s what it means to be a Jedi, but I can’t do it.”

Because she’s selfish and self-serving, and she keeps making everything more and more difficult.

“What about you?” she asks instead of letting him respond. “What are you going to say to them?”

He stares at her for a moment that borders on too long before looking away. She knows it can’t be easy for him, knows that he’s expecting the worst. Even now it’s all over his features: in the line of his brow, the curve of his shoulders, the way his hands fidget in his lap. But he just sighs before returning his gaze to her. “It depends on what they say to me.”

She offers him a weak smile. “Copycat.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, finally getting to the place she didn’t want him to go.

“I will be.” _I kissed Carth_. “This feels a lot like wading out into the lake. Like--standing in the cold water, waiting for the bad thing to come even though I’m the one heading towards it.”

He nods. “That makes sense. For what it’s worth, I’ll still be by your side.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t be.”

A heavy silence falls between them, but then-- “What?”

“I’m just--” she starts, but pauses. How can she explain this to him? “Maybe you were right, at the start of all of this. Maybe I’m not that different from who I was.”

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

But Revan just looks away. _You haven’t changed at all_ , her mother had said. The thought hasn’t been on her mind for long, but it’s true, isn’t it?

“Revan.” His voice is softer this time. “What happened?”

She doesn’t want him to ask that. She doesn’t want to talk about it, because she doesn’t want to admit that she’s been using him, using Carth, doing anything to get what she wants out of people. She’s not good. Why don’t people seem to realize that? How could they all change their minds about her?

From Revan to Revan. One version of herself to another. One moment she’s conquering the galaxy and the next she’s saving it. It doesn’t make her any better. It doesn’t change what she’s done.

“Why aren’t you angry?” she asks instead of answering, feeling her thought process click into place.

It doesn’t help his confusion. “What?”

“Remember when you first woke up here? You looked at me, and you were _happy_. You thought you were dead and you were happy.”

“Revan, I--”

“Then you shut down. By the time we got to Kashyyyk, I thought we’d never recover. I thought there was no possibility of getting to...wherever we are.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because you were _angry_ , Malak. Remember? On the roof, you were disappointed that I wasn’t bothered by the rain. That first time at the lake, when you carried me back--I asked you if you were angry and you said _yes_. Why didn’t you just leave me behind? Why didn’t you let me drown?”

Malak shakes his head, though. He shakes his head and his gaze is sharp on hers. “Don’t do this.”

She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She wants to feel like she’s in control of something right now. “Why? Remember when we fought that one time? It was after Jolee said he’d met me before, and you wouldn’t leave me alone but you wouldn’t _talk to me_. You said--Force, you said you felt like you were stuck with me, and that you wanted the old me back. Are we just pretending that this didn’t happen?”

“I told you before--”

“Yeah, you told me you were tired of being angry,” she argues. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be. These things don’t just go away.”

He sighs, averting his gaze before setting his elbows on his lap and resting his head in his hands. His voice is quiet and flat when he says, “You don’t get to decide whether or not I should be angry.”

When he looks up he meets her eyes, and he might be angry now, which loosens some pit in her stomach. “And why not?”

“Because you don’t understand!”

And _oh_ , she grins. “You know, I’d missed you saying that to me. Why don’t you make me understand, Malak?”

He looks away again and Revan feels like a predator swooping in on her prey. This feels like something else entirely, slipping into a self she doesn’t know. Her voice is demanding when she says, “Come on, Malak. Make me understand.”

“I can’t!” he yells, and his gaze turns back to meet hers. There’s an anger there she hasn’t seen for some time, and there’s another feeling in her stomach, something closer to regret. “Why are you doing this?”

 _Carth kissed me_. She shakes her head, looking down at her arms. Her back is starting to hurt as she leans against the holoprojector, and she feels shaken as much as she feels in control. It’s a balance within her that still somehow feels wildly unsteady.

“I want the truth,” she says, steeling herself.

He watches her openly, his gaze full of disbelief. “You know it’s not that easy.”

“You and me, Malak” she explains, the words tumbling out of her mouth freely. She hardly thinks about it, just lets them go. “I just want the truth about you and me.”

“Why?” he asks. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”

They’re dangerously close to talking about it, and Revan’s heart races as she watches him. His expression is pleading her not to go here, but she can feel it under the surface: the threads of past desire lingering in a present kiss, what they might’ve been if he’d only just _tell her_.

“I want to know if I’m right.”

But he gets up, and she knows she’s losing. He stands at his full height and it’s different like this, feeling small like this. He says, “You want to know what you were right about? I should be mad. I should be angry, but I’m not. The person who did those things isn’t the person you are now. It’d be a different story if you remembered, but as it is--just. Leave it alone, okay?”

His shoulders slump as he sighs, and for the first time in a long time, he walks away.

“No,” she murmurs, because didn’t she just _have this conversation?_ She watches him for a moment, watches the outline of his back as he disappears down the corridor, and gets up to follow him. He ends up in the starboard dorms, and for a moment Revan wishes she was here to talk to Mission instead, just like the old days, but her own anger burns low within her and this is meant for Malak alone.

“I am the same person,” she bites out, and Malak turns to face her--slow and resigned. “I’m the same exact person I’ve always been, I just can’t remember. That doesn’t mean I’m not capable of making the same choices, or hurting you the same way I did before.”

“Funny--didn’t we have this argument already? Only _you_ were the one telling me that you’re different.”

“Yes, and you said I wasn’t! So why won’t you agree with me now?”

It’s quiet for a moment that stretches on for far too long. Revan and Malak stare at each other under the dim industrial lights of the ship, their eyes locked on each other, and a hundred different things are left unsaid between them.

They’re at a crossroads, and Revan wants to push it further. She can’t figure out what it is within her that wants to drive this point home, but she’s there. She’s ready. She’s going to get him to admit this to her--that they were more than friends, that there was love between them once and it’s still lingering even if they won’t talk about it.

But that’s not what happens. What happens is Malak shakes his head idly before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a long second. He reaches up, and Revan’s eyes track the movement of his hands as one of them pulls at the bolt on his ear and the other hooks under his chin. There’s a small sound and he looks away as he winces, pulling the jaw completely off.

It’s the first time she’s seen it since they first healed him. It looks the same: jagged, cauterized flesh, cut cleanly to the front of his neck. There’s the opening to his esophagus, the quiet blue light that covers it. There’s the mangled remains of his top lip--perhaps the only thing left. He’s missing his teeth, his tongue, the bone that should support it.

It’s an ugly thing. It’s truly, nauseatingly horrific to look at, but what’s even worse than the sight of him is the reasoning behind it.

“Would you do this?” he asks earnestly, but his eyes still won’t meet hers. He looks at the floor between them, steady but unseeing. “Because this is what you’re capable of.”

Revan can’t answer. There’s something different about looking at him now, rather than when he was first on the ship. Before--she didn’t know him. Before, he was just a stranger clinging to life, only half-alive, mostly dead. But now he’s something else. He’s her friend, her strength, her comfort. He’s become unequivocally important to her, but she can’t deny the truth before her.

And it hurts.

Her eyes drop as well. Her gaze lands on the empty shell of his jaw in his hands, and her heart sinks and sinks and sinks.

“Malak, I--”

“Forget it,” he says, and takes a seat on one of the bunks. She watches him click it back into place, pulling on the mechanics to fit it back where it belongs with a snap. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just don’t want to believe that you would ever do this again.”

And as much as this is the confirmation she’s been looking for in regards to his jaw, it isn’t what she wanted. How could it be? Her sole focus lately has been on what was good between them, but she knows that it deteriorated to the point where he tried to kill her. She’s been pushing so hard for the truth about them that she forgot that this, too, is a part of it.

He’s right. How could she do something like that?

“I wouldn’t,” she says, but it’s an empty promise. There’s nothing she can do to prove otherwise, and clearly her past has shown that wasn’t above hurting him.

He nods, but it doesn’t give her any confidence that he’s agreeing with her. All he says is, “Can we just...have some time apart right now?”

Revan doesn’t want to leave him. She looks at him and she doesn’t want to leave him, and maybe some part of her past is the one that feels this strongly for him--some part screaming to come out, come alive, and be what he needs her to be right now. A woman who loves him, who’s there for him.

A woman who doesn’t have her issues.

But she can’t be that person, and she doesn’t say anything else. She watches his profile because he still won’t look at her, and she turns and quietly leaves the room, back into the main hold.

Her eyes scan to the cockpit and she nearly laughs, because it’s comical, isn’t it? It should be downright hilarious how she’s taken this time between Kashyyyk and Coruscant and managed to ruin two separate relationships, just like that.

Just like that--letting Carth down and pushing Malak past whatever good thing that bloomed between them. Again and again, making the argument that she hasn’t changed and then proving it. Now all she’s left with is one question:

Was it worth it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings include: dubious consent in regards to a kiss, as well as body horror when malak takes off his jaw.


	14. Chapter 14

It’s not giving up, it’s giving in. 

The thoughts that come in the hours following her confrontation with Malak are overwhelming, and they’re heavy and _there_. They come alive the moment Revan’s alone, and it’s not that she’s giving up on trying to fix it--she’s giving in to the thoughts that make it difficult to start. 

She stays in the portside dorms for some time, laying on her back on one of the bunks and trying to white out the noise of her mind. It started as a jumble of words and ideas, all of them self-reprimanding and unkind, but now it just sounds a lot like, _I need a way out, I need a way out, I need a way out_ , and Revan doesn’t know how to combat that. 

So she keeps her eyes steady on the dull durasteel ceiling of the bunk, letting them unfocus and refocus on the flat gray expanse above her. Her mind drifts and she’s quiet and everything feels like too much all at once. She doesn’t know how to divide it up, make it easier to manage. It just sits like a weight on her chest and she lets it. 

She hates herself, but she lets it. 

Because she knows she should be trying to fix it. There’s only so much time left before everything might fall apart, and here--now--everything’s already fallen apart, but Revan still won’t make herself get up to try and make it right. 

 _When did you become so weak?,_  her mother asks her, and Revan closes her eyes. 

 _I don’t think strength is the answer_ , she replies. If she were stronger, she wouldn’t have let it come this far. She would’ve known what to do with Malak the moment she saved him. If she were stronger, she would’ve handed him over right then and there, instead of giving in to her selfish desire to take everything from him. She knew what she was doing, of course she did, and she still did it. 

Or maybe--she thought she knew what she was doing, but now it’s just a bigger mess than it was. She thought she knew what she was doing because she thought she knew herself. Malak has...taken her apart. He’s pulled out the missing pieces of her and patched them up the best he could, and Revan--she‘s still fighting for more.

At the end of the day, she’ll always want more.

\--

The sound of footsteps carries down the corridor, setting Revan’s nerves on edge. She’s still in the portside dorms, but at this point she’s taken to sitting on the floor, her back against the bunk. She’d thought meditating might help, but all it did was leave her frustrated and disconnected, and her body’s starting to feel sore from sitting on the rigid floor. 

When she looks up, it’s Carth’s figure in the doorway. His expression is closed off, but he doesn’t look angry. He stands there and he watches her and something doesn’t feel right about this, but isn’t that how it always is? Nothing has felt right for some time.

Her lips quirk to the side but she pats the space beside her. “Want to sit?” 

He watches her for a moment longer before he visibly deflates, his mouth loosening from the tight line it was in. Carth sits down next to her with his knees pulled up, and he rests his arms on top of them as he tilts his head back. Like this, Revan can see the line of his neck, the way it stretches up into the scruffy beard that he’s been growing since he first came to visit them. Her eyes trace up along his jaw, real and whole, and stops at his lips, feeling guilt burn as the memory of their kiss comes back to life. 

“I’m sorry,” she offers. It’s the truth, and she knows that if anything, Carth will recognize that. If she can trust anything, it’s that Carth will always listen to her when she’s sorry.

“I just came to tell you that we’ll be landing soon,” he says back, but he closes his eyes for a moment. “No. Can I ask--why did you do it?” 

“What?”

“If it didn’t mean anything to you, why did you kiss me like that?” he clarifies, and this time he turns his head to face her. 

Revan turns hers away. 

To admit the truth feels...cruel. To lie to him feels cruel. Or, seen another way: what she did was cruel, and no explanation will be able to take that away. She presses her lips together, and too much time passes as she tries to think of an answer, until all that’s left is, “I have these memories sometimes. They’re like--I don’t know. I suppose they’re triggered by repeating certain...actions, but when I get them it’s like I’m experiencing it for the first time.”

Revan keeps her voice steady but the words feel stuck in her mouth. There’s something mortifying about admitting to the man you kissed that you were thinking of someone else while you were kissing him. 

“So you were just...remembering?” 

She looks over at him. His expression is skeptical at best, and it almost makes her laugh. “Yeah, it was like kissing two people at once. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” 

“A little,” he says, but he presses his lips together before continuing, “it’s better than the alternative, I guess.” 

“That I can kiss you like that but still say no?”

“Something like that.” Gratefully, his mouth bends into a small grin. 

“I’m sorry, Carth,” she says again. “I’m sorry for all of it. I wish things could be different for us, but this is what we have and I--I know I messed it up. And I know that I keep saying I don’t want to hurt you, but I still mean it. I don’t want this to come between us.” 

“It won’t,” he says, nodding. “For what it’s worth, if that’s the only time we kiss, then at least it was a hell of a good one.” 

Revan’s mouth opens for a half second before it closes again. “How are you okay with this?”

“I don’t know that I am. It just--doesn’t seem as important right now. We’ll be landing on Coruscant in few minutes, and I think at this point I’m more concerned about your safety than whether or not you want to kiss me.” 

She has to take a breath, letting her gaze unfocus as she sees past Carth and traces it over the flat gray of the wall. “Right.” 

“Come on, let’s do one more landing for the books. I need my copilot.” 

His smile is warm and genuine and she doesn’t deserve his kindness. And the part of her that wants to punish herself, the part that wants to push him away and make him angry? Well, she ignores it as she agrees, and pushes herself off of the floor. Her body’s tired but she doesn't think that’s going to matter much soon, and Carth doesn’t touch her but he looks at her with a different kind of softness. 

It’s more than she deserves. 

He leads the way out of the dorms, and the dark corridor floods his back with shadows before they step into the main hold. Revan’s gaze travels up, and her heart drops when she sees Malak sitting in the same seat as before, his attention caught by the sound of them entering the room. 

His expression falls as their eyes meet, and it feels a lot like the beginning. It feels like when the gray area between them felt impossible to cross, and she won’t lie: it hurts. She doesn’t know how she got to the point where he has the power to make her feel this way, but she’s here and there’s a certain kind of satisfaction in the pain. 

“You go ahead,” she says to Carth. “I’ll catch up in a moment.” 

Carth looks at her like, _are you sure?_ , but he passes her by and disappears towards the cockpit, leaving Revan alone with Malak. 

He watches her openly, and the distance feels like too much between them. She’d wanted it earlier--she’d needed it--but right now all she wants is for him to put his arms around her, put his forehead against hers, and tell her that they’ll be alright. 

It’s what she wants, but she knows it won’t happen. 

“I pushed,” she admits, crossing her arms over her chest. “I took it too far. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

Malak just raises his brows in response. 

She takes a breath. “That’s not how it should’ve gone. I don’t want things to be like this with us. I’m just--frustrated, and tired, and scared. I took it out on you and I know it’s not an excuse, but I need you to know where I’m at. I need you to know that I’m trying to push you away, but I don’t want it to work.” 

When he still doesn’t say anything, Revan shakes her head. “Malak, please.” 

Finally: “I know.” 

He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again, only to find her gaze. He doesn’t look happy but he doesn’t look upset. “I get it, Rev. Honestly, I do.” 

“Are you angry?” she asks, not for the first time. 

But it brings out some kind of smile, something defeated, something not quite happy. “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. I’m sorry for showing you my jaw, though. It was a cheap shot.” 

She presses her lips together. “I deserved it.” 

“The thing is,” he says, getting up. “A different version of you did--you deserved it more than anything, before--but as much as we keep arguing the same point, I don’t think its fair to put that burden on you, when you have no memory of doing it.” 

Right. She _is_ the one who did this, but she isn’t. It’s the same argument as earlier and Revan doesn’t know which side she stands on now. She doesn’t know how she can keep this for herself, take responsibility and own it, when she wouldn’t have known without him telling her. All she has is the evidence of her actions and sometimes that’s not enough. 

“I want to deserve it,” she admits. 

“Why?”

 _Because I want this pain to mean something_. She can’t make herself say it. “You treat me differently because I don’t remember.”

Here he is: in front of her with all his height, with all his breadth. He stands there and watches her and she has to _go_ , but she needs answers. Force, she needs answers and it feels like every time she talks to him she only gets more questions. 

“I have to,” he says back. 

Revan swipes a hand over her forehead, trying to breathe, trying to figure out why her and Malak aren’t on the same page right now. They’re out of sync, fallen out of step, they can’t seem to get it together and she _has to go_.

“We’re gonna be landing in a minute,” she says, and she can hear the flatness in her voice. “I told Carth I’d play copilot.” 

“Okay.”

She watches him for a moment longer before turning, but his hand finds her arm, stopping her where she is. There’s a look on his face, and she’s begging her brain to understand this, but it’s too messed up. This could be it and she’s not doing this right.

“Revan,” he says, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know the truth, it’s just...so hard to talk about.” 

Her whole chest aches and there’s nothing she can do. She watches him and she wants to know it all, wants him to push past whatever’s getting in the way, but she won’t ask that of him and even if she would, there isn’t time for it now. 

“Okay,” she says, gently pulling her arm out of his grip. “We’ll--we’ll figure it out.” 

Revan doesn’t like the hurt on his face, sitting openly on his features. She doesn’t like it but there isn’t time for that, either. She turns and he doesn’t stop her as she heads down the corridor, her footsteps quiet in comparison to the pounding of her heart. 

Carth looks up as she enters the cockpit, a brow raised as he watches her sit down. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” she says, and flips a few switches. At this point, her hands know what to do more than her mind does and she lets them. She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about anything at all.

Outside the viewport, Coruscant looms before them, all city towers and heights that look miniscule from up here. Some part of her knows that what she wants doesn’t really matter right now--it might never have mattered, considering. 

Considering she hasn’t made a choice in this. The only thing she did was save Malak, and ever since then she’s been letting it all slip through her fingers. 

She only half listens as Carth communicates with the spaceport, her attention caught only by the authorities telling them they have to land in a specific, quarantined landing zone. Glancing over at Carth, they share a look before he confirms and they set course. 

In hindsight, it’s amazing that she’s made it this far without this horrible sense of dread overcoming her. She can feel it in her hands, her stomach, even her eyes as she takes in the sight of the spaceport coming closer and closer. She thought she’d be happier to leave Kashyyyk, to go to a planet and feel that bright white warmth of the sun, but the truth is, she’d rather live in the dark than suffer in the light. 

And maybe that’s always been the case. 

“Looks like we’ve got a greeting party,” Carth observes as the ship touches down. Revan’s gaze slides over the soldiers waiting outside the ship, and back to Carth. She can feel herself shutting down and it’s not good. She needs to be alert, be wary, protect Malak as much as she can, but...this isn’t a good start. 

She unbuckles herself, getting up before Carth does, and heads back to the main hold. Malak’s already up as well and he raises his brows when he catches sight of her. She doesn’t know what she looks like right now, and she doesn’t care. 

“There’s at least twenty Republic soldiers out there,” she comments. It might be a warning, it might be something else. “I don’t think they were expecting you to come here peacefully.”

“I’m not surprised,” he murmurs as Carth joins them. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” 

She nods, but the moment the two men make a move, she speaks up. “Malak--”

He looks at her, but there’s nothing else to say. They just...have to do this, even if she doesn't want to. 

“I’ll be okay,” he says, and finally there’s a break in his distant expression. There’s something warmer there, and it’s reassuring even though she knows he’s preparing himself for the worst. “It’ll be fine.” 

She doesn’t believe him but it helps, so she won’t argue. She nods again and this time when they move, she follows behind. It makes the most sense for Carth to leave first--a friendly face to go before them. Malak glances at her as they walk towards the exit of the ship, and when he returns his gaze ahead of him, he reaches his hand back. For a moment, for just a second, she laces her fingers through his and squeezes as hard as she can. 

It helps. 

Walking down the ramp is the first step. All Revan needs to do is walk down the ramp, and then she can face whatever problem comes next. She’s too used to trying to figure it all out at once, and she’s tired of trying to predict what she can’t. None of them know what’s coming, but all it takes is walking down the ramp to find out. 

She’s not prepared to see Master Zhar waiting with the Republic troop. Malak isn’t either, given the way he stops, his eyes locking onto his former master. Revan doesn’t normally sense him through the Force, but in this moment it’s impossible to miss all the fear, all the shame, all the grief that radiates from him. 

His next steps are slow, but she’s beside him as they approach Zhar, and the twi’lek’s face is carefully blank. His expression is neutral but his eyes give him away--they’re just as full of emotion as Malak’s, and Revan doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t understand the history between them, only the stories that Malak’s told her. 

But from what she gathers, Malak’s known Zhar longer than he’s known her, and it might be enough to break him. 

It’s tense, standing in the complete silence of the landing pad--the only sound comes from the distant speeders and the hum of the city. The soldiers’ blasters aren’t aimed at them, but Revan knows it would take just the slightest hint of aggression to push them into action. It wouldn’t take much at all--they’re on a precipice and it keeps getting smaller and smaller. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Master Zhar finally says. A sad smile fits onto his lips as he looks at Malak. Malak just nods, but he glances at Revan instead of saying anything. She can’t understand the depth of his sadness, right there in his blue eyes. He looks at her and then he looks away and Revan’s chest feels strange with how hard her heart is pounding. 

She takes a small step forward, her body overlapping Malak’s as she stands slightly in front of him. “I assume we’ll be heading to the Temple.” 

It takes a while for Zhar’s gaze to slide over to her instead of Malak, who watches the ground with a hard stare. But Zhar nods as he regards her. “Yes, there’s a speeder waiting to take us over. You’ll both be seeing the Council immediately.”  

She nods, but Malak still won’t look at either of them. Zhar goes on to say, “I’m sorry it has to be like this."

She thinks he means all that’s happened--everything from their time as children to the way they turned their backs on the Jedi. She thinks it might be the fact that they brainwashed her, told her to kill the one person who truly meant something to her in life. It might be because Malak’s back, that he’s standing here in front of his old master, here in peace after years of being an enemy they couldn’t have predicted.

But that’s not it. 

Master Zhar gestures to a couple of soldiers, who move quickly as they come forward. They go to Malak, and he doesn’t even flinch as they bind his wrists. He looks up at Zhar first, then to Revan, and all the fear, all the grief is open on his face-- 

But it doesn’t compare to the look that comes over him when they place bindings on Revan’s wrists next. 

“What are you doing?” That’s Carth, pushing through the crowd. He looks panicked, all wide brown eyes and parted lips. “Let her go!” 

“Carth--” she starts, and there’s some resignation in her voice. She bites down against the buzzing that flows through her body, suppressing the Force within her. What did she expect? Why fight it now when that would only make everything worse?

Zhar shakes his head, and she’d like to believe that there’s regret in his eyes. “It’s just to be safe. We’ll take them off at the Temple.” 

Carth looks like he’s about to argue, but the troopers move, separating him from the three Jedi as Zhar leads them through the crowd. All the while the sun shines down, glancing off the windows of the city towers. Revan squints against it, conscious of Malak’s presence by her side as they follow Master Zhar. There are several ships waiting--an escort, probably--and it’s the most Revan’s ever felt like a criminal. 

She wonders if this is it: the punishment to fit the crime. 

And what a crime it is. 

Revan sits next to Malak in the speeder, and she tries not to focus on the feeling of her wrists locked in place or the weird, empty feeling it gives her. Her eyes are glued to the window, watching the city towers rush by in blurred lines. This is a place she once knew, according to Malak. This place used to be familiar. Now it’s something else. 

His knee rests against hers for the duration of the ride, solid and pressing and familiar in its own way. It’s a reminder that he’s there, even if nothing else is certain, and Revan can’t seem to look at him, not if this is going to be the last time. 

If this is it--well, maybe it would’ve been more compassionate to kill him on the Star Forge.

But she doesn’t want to think like that. She doesn’t want to believe that the Jedi wouldn’t show him mercy. Part of her thinks they’ll be more angry at her than at him, and she’d be glad for it. For him, she would. For him she would do anything to prevent any further suffering, to prevent him from being punished for something that was her fault in the first place. 

What is she thinking? When did she decide that she’d sacrifice her happiness for his? He was just a story to her back on Taris, and now he sits beside her, and protecting him is the only thing that matters.

Zhar sits on the other side and she can sense him taking little glances at them now and then. All she knows are Malak’s stories, how the two of them trained under Zhar together. How he watched over her after her master betrayed her, how he took them around the galaxy, and now he sits with the two of them in chains. 

This is what she’s done, by turning against the Republic, turning against the Jedi. 

 _It had to have been worth it_ , she thinks to herself. She hopes, at least, that she wouldn’t ruin everything based on her selfish desire for the dark side. 

 _You were seeing a future I wasn’t_ , Malak said. She had to have known the price she was willing to pay. She had to have had a plan for it all, and somewhere in the back of her mind the words _go back_ , still resound. She doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how it’s come this far, or how a former threat could be so big that she’d risk all of this to fight it. 

 _It can still be worth it,_ her mother says, which scares her more than anything else. It’s not a thought she wants to chase.

The temple itself is grander than she would have thought. Having only been to the Enclave on Dantooine, she hadn’t expected such an imposing building. She can’t help but marvel at it--its size dominates the area, even for a place such as Coruscant, and it’s lined in gold, with grand arches and statues of figures she doesn’t recognize. 

And then the speeder slows to a stop, and she finally looks back at Malak. His eyes find hers and there’s nothing neither of them can do right now, so she offers a tight-lipped smile and shakes her head. 

They follow behind Zhar once more, with soldiers surrounding them on either side. Her and Malak, together once again. Even if she doesn’t remember him, it feels right. It’s where they’re supposed to be. From his stories, she knows that every time they’ve been separated, they’ve come back together. 

Despite everything, they’re here, still together. Always together. Then--not at all. 

“We’ll be talking to you separately,” Zhar explains, stopping outside of what she assumes are the Council chamber doors. Zhar turns to Malak. “You’ll be first.” 

There’s some kind of panicked response in Revan’s chest, and her wrists ache when she tries to reach for him. Her rational mind isn’t working. All she can think is, _this is it, I’m going to lose him,_ and she wants to yell out after him, have him come back to her one last time, but all she does is watch him go. 

He doesn’t look back.

She’s left with the troopers, and she scowls at the ones who stare at her openly. Her breathing doesn’t feel right--it comes too quickly and she needs it to slow down. Leaning against one of the pillars, she lets the solid weight of it ground her as much as it can. She lets her entire back press against it, trying to take its support as she focuses on calming herself. 

Through this entire thing, from saving Malak to this moment, she thinks this might be the most afraid she’s felt. This is where it’s pivotal, and it feels dangerous because she can’t predict how the Council’s going to react. She tries to reassure herself. She tries to remember Jolee’s words: _They’ll show him mercy, even if it’s the last thing they want to do_. 

She just doesn't know if it’s enough. 

Time stretches out, and Revan wishes there was someone with her instead of the silence of blasters ready to aim. She wishes she had something to distract herself because all her mind does is go over every scenario in which it all goes wrong. 

She ends up sitting on the floor, staring at the looping patterns of the burgundy carpet below her, and it’s a long time before she hears the sound of a comm buzzing. Her head lifts and she gets up, but the soldiers form a barricade, lining up to block her from the door. It opens with a loud sound and Revan’s stuck, her head moves side to side, trying to see around them, trying to catch a glimpse of Malak being led away. He’s going in the opposite direction, away from where they first came in, and she has no idea where it leads.

“Malak!” she shouts, and his head turns enough to meet her gaze, but there’s a hand on his arm and it lasts only a split second. Just a split second of seeing him and then he’s gone. 

 _Stay calm_ , her mother warns her, which she needs. Her hands are shaking with an emotion she can’t name--something wild, trapped and desperate, and it’s not enough to stand here quietly. _Don’t show them your fear._

Malak’s gone. She takes a breath. The door to the chambers is still open and Zhar stands in the entry. The soldiers make a way for her to enter when all she wants to do is go after Malak, find out what happened, and get out of here. 

But that doesn’t matter right now. She walks to the Council chambers and meets Zhar’s eyes for a split second before turning her attention to the room. There’s nothing reassuring in them. 

The chambers themselves are just as grand as the rest of the temple--moreso, perhaps. The room is circular, surrounded by arches that loom over them, and when Revan looks up, it feels like looking up into the wroshyr trees. There are six Council members in the room, but Revan only recognizes Zhar, Vrook, and Vandar. There are two women this time, one with long dark hair and kind eyes, the other in all white and the coldest expression Revan’s ever seen.

The third she doesn’t recognize is a man, and he’s leaning forward in his chair, his gaze intent. 

She stands in the center of the room, surrounded by them, and feels their judgment cover over her. It’s what she imagines it’d be like to be a child, to go before your parents and admit what you’ve done wrong. It’d be easier if that’s all she had to do. Parents are supposed to love you unconditionally; the Jedi have never made her any promises. 

“We open this meeting with a chance for you to explain your actions,” Vrook begins. “And that is more clemency than you deserve.”  

 _Don’t ask about Malak_ , she reminds herself. The question is just under her tongue, ready to come to life, but she won’t do it. She won’t show them that she cares. “I was faced with a decision on the Star Forge: to spare Malak’s life or end it. He’d shown regret for his actions, and as a Jedi I felt as though I could not kill him.”  

The woman in white’s face scrunches up. “As a _Jedi_ , you should’ve known how dangerous it is to spare an enemy. Regret or not, he’d waged a war that killed millions. _Your war,_ Revan.”  

“Master Atris,” Zhar interrupts.  

“No, she’s right,” Revan says. This is the first time she’s meeting with them with the knowledge that she’s Revan, so it’s strange to openly acknowledge it, but this is a war as well. This is where she fights to make things right, and if she can’t do that, it’s both her and Malak’s lives that are on the line. “It _was_ my war. I may not remember it, but I don’t deny what I’ve done. Killing Malak wouldn’t have made it right. It wouldn’t change what we did, but I have to believe that if I was given a second chance, then so should he.”  

The man she doesn’t recognize pushes a hand through his curly hair, not quite looking at her until he leans back in his seat. “Do you feel guilty that he took the blame for your actions?”  

“I didn’t save him because of my guilt, if that’s what you’re asking.”  

“And yet you don’t deny it,” he argues. There’s something uncomfortable about him knowing her, without her knowing him. He speaks with a familiarity that he shouldn’t have, and it feels dangerous to argue with that.

“Master, I don’t even know your name, so I don’t know what you expect from me. I don’t deny my guilt, but I fail to see how this matters, now.” 

The woman called Atris grins. It’s wolfish and unappealing and it doesn’t fit the frown that sits permanently in her eyes. “Such defiance, still. Even without your memories, you are plagued by the past. You’re still sick with the power that influenced thousands of Jedi, but you don’t understand it. You don’t know what you’ve done, but you know that you’ve done it.”

“And what of it?” Revan asks. “I can’t do anything about it and yet I’m tormented by it. Do you think it’s been easy? There’s no immunity from the pain of knowing what I’ve done, just because I don’t remember. It’s a constant weight on my mind.”

It’s what she’s been trying to tell Malak. Maybe some part of her thinks that if she remembered it’d be easier to bear. If she remembered, perhaps she could find actual healing from it. If she understood why she did what she did, if she could forgive herself, then maybe she could move on. But no--the knowledge is there, and it’s pressing, and all she has are the consequences.

Unsurprisingly, her answer doesn’t satisfy Atris. “That is hardly different from your state before the war. You’ve never been equipped to handle tragedy, so you created your own. Forgive me if I don’t bow down to you in mercy, for you still don’t deserve it.” 

 _You’re a Jedi_ , is all Revan can think. She has no other response. There is more emotion and anger in this woman than Revan has seen in the others, and she wonders how the Council ignores it. Is it because of Revan herself? Does everyone get a free pass to hate her, just because she’s earned it? 

It’s Master Zhar who defends her. “That is neither here nor there, Master Atris. We’ve gathered here to discuss Malak, not Revan’s past.” 

“Which leads to our next point,” says Vrook. “Why did you hide him from the Council?” 

But Revan’s been expecting this one. “I needed time.”

“For what, exactly?”

“Time to process,” she says, and her gaze unfocuses as she stares at the tiled floor. “It’s been a long year, and I never had the chance to allow myself time to process my...situation. I regret hiding him from you, but had I informed the Council, I wouldn’t have had the chance to learn from it.”

When she looks up, Zhar smiles at her, and she wonders if he knows where she’s going with this. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t want to rush into a decision,” she clarifies. “I wanted to take time to consider what had happened, especially with Malak. I didn’t fear him. He’s been...resigned, and quiet. He was very weak after the destruction of the Star Forge, especially without his connection to the Force. From my point of view, the threat that you sent me after had been quashed, and I needed time to figure out my next step.”

“I think we can consider that fair,” the other woman she doesn’t recognize says, and when Revan looks up, she offers her a smile. “Lonna Vash. Concealing the truth from you was not a popular idea, but a necessary one. In my opinion, you’ve done well considering what’s been handed to you. As a Council, we’re trying to figure out the best way to move forward given the information we have.” 

“Given the information we have...” Vrook grumbles. “The two of them have done more damage than they could ever make up for, and Revan’s actions have shouted far louder than her words here today.” 

“But we cannot decide with emotion,” Vandar continues. “And there is much to decide.” 

Revan’s gaze wanders from Jedi to Jedi, watching them all share glances and knowing looks. Each person has a different reason to be angry with her, to hate her, and somewhere in the past she had just the same with them.

“What are you doing with Malak?” she asks, despite her better judgment.  

“The same thing we should do with you,” Vrook answers, and he shakes his head a little bit to himself. There’s something familiar about his soft wrinkled face that goes beyond her time on Dantooine, but it still doesn’t have any meaning. “As a Council, we have chosen to offer him help. However, considering his past, he will remain in a quarantined section of the Enclave, here on Coruscant. He will remain under observation for as long as we need to determine our next course of action.”

“You will be free to come and go,” Zhar continues, “but your time here will be monitored as well, and we cannot allow you to freely visit with Malak until we are certain that he is not a threat. Despite many words shared here today, we view your decision to save him as one of mercy, not of aggression or malice. You’ve done well following your Jedi teachings, as short as your time on Dantooine was.” 

Revan’s numb to the relief that falls over her, but she knows it’s there. Her breathing eases and her hands stop shaking, but she knows it isn’t over. She knows it’s more precarious than they’re letting on. 

“Thank you, Masters.”

\--

It takes a while longer for them to let her go. 

She’s answered their questions, she’s defended her choices. She feels sick with how tired she is. When they dismiss her, she bows before them and turns without looking back, the high arches of the room still stuck in her peripheral vision. 

“Revan!” 

She’s outside the chambers when she hears his voice call after her. The room is empty now, free from the Republic soldiers, and when she turns, it’s the master that she doesn’t recognize who joins her in the open room.

“Hello again,” she says, wary--considering it’s only been a moment since he had the opportunity to speak to her. 

He nods, and there’s something hurried about his appearance. Like he’s just thrown himself together, and he stands at about the same height as her, so when he meets her gaze it feels too close. “I’m Kavar. You, um, said you didn’t know my name, so.” 

 _Oh, right_. Malak’s spoken of him several times over the past few days. She cycles through what she knows about him: Malak trained with him here on Coruscant. He was the one who was supposed to go to war instead of her. Malak called him a coward, said that Kavar broke his faith in the Jedi.  

Revan squares her shoulders. “Then I suppose we’ve already met.”  

“We have,” he says, nodding. “I’d even say that I once considered us friends.” 

That’s not what he was saying in the Council Chambers. “You think I should feel guilty for what I’ve done to Malak.”  

A strange smile fits itself onto his lips, almost as though he wanted her to ask that. “No. I’m not foolish enough to blame you for his choices. He made his decision to follow you, and beyond that, he chose to take up the mantle of Sith Lord when you died.”  

She narrows her eyes. “And yet?” 

“And yet, I don’t think he would’ve made the same choices if you weren’t the one offering them to him.”  

“You mean, if I hadn’t been the one who went to war?” 

This time he looks away, and for a moment all Revan feels is anger towards him. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to insinuate...” 

“Then what can I do for you, Master?”  

“Nothing. I...I wanted to thank you,” he says. “Saving Malak wasn’t the obvious choice, but you still made it. He was a good kid. This never should have happened to him.”  

All Revan can do is smile. It’s funny how even though she’s supposedly the one who was redeemed, it’s Malak who they all actually want back. Malak’s redemption would mean something, because he’s choosing it for himself. For the most part, she agrees with them. She knows that as much as he made the choice to stand with her, it’s her fault for offering it to him, for being the one who left for war. 

“No, it shouldn’t have happened to him,” she murmurs. There’s movement in the corner of Revan’s eye, and when she glances over, it’s Juhani waiting against the pillar opposite of them. “But for the record I agree with you, Master Kavar. You can’t imagine the guilt that I feel. Excuse me.”

She leaves him behind, turning on her heel and hurrying over to her friend. Juhani’s wearing a loose brown robe, her hair longer than the last time she saw her, and when Revan draws closer, she opens her arms and embraces her immediately.

It allows Revan to take a breath. To focus on something other than the whirling chaos of her life. She breathes long and deep and when she pulls back, Juhani’s wide eyes watch her carefully. There’s a small smile on her lips, though, and she says, “It’s so good to see you again.” 

“I missed you,” is all Revan has right now. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

“Of course,” Juhani says, nodding down the hall. They walk through the temple arm in arm, through each grand room Revan was too anxious to pay attention to earlier. Her mind wants to worry about Malak, it wants to worry about herself, but she forces the thoughts down. Instead she focuses on the warmth of Juhani beside her, the familiarity of her presence. 

“We should go see Mission,” she’s saying. “We heard of your arrival last night and asked the Council if it’d be alright if you stayed in our apartment.” 

Revan raises a brow. “What did they say?” 

“They said they’d need to speak to you first, but I was informed just now that it’d be alright. I believe the Council’s putting more and more trust in me.” 

“As they should,” she says. “You and Mission share an apartment?”

“Yes,” says Juhani, the hint of a laugh in her voice. “No one wanted her to live by herself, not even Mission. I figured that since we’d become so close in our time together, that it would make the most sense for us to share. She asked for my help in decorating but I’m afraid I have little skill in that area. Us Jedi are not meant to have possessions, and I have never been taught to look at such designs critically.” 

Revan smiles, grateful for the distraction. “I don’t think I’d know where to begin, myself.” 

“She’s done well, though. Every day I forget that she’s just sixteen years old.”

“The past year’s changed her,” Revan remarks as they approach the landing pad. “But she’s always had to grow up faster than she should.” 

Juhani smiles. “You’re good for her.” 

“You’re better.” 

She gives Revan a look, something that says, _that’s not possible_ , but doesn’t argue any further. The two of them get in a taxi and Revan listens as Juhani rattles off an address, the Temple looming over them and then gone in the rearview. 

Malak left behind in the rearview.

\--

“You have to tell me everything, okay? Three weeks was too long to go without seeing you. What happened? Did Malak talk to you at all? Does he still hate you? Did you figure out if you hate him or not? How’s Jolee? What did Carth say when he showed up? What did the _Council_ say? Please tell me you’re not in big trouble.” 

Revan laughs as Mission rattles off her questions, offering her reassurance as her eyes scan the modest apartment. Juhani was right, there aren’t many personal touches here, just a bottle of Tarisian Ale on one of the shelves, next to a framed photo of Mission and Zaalbar. It’s cute, though, and the furniture is bright. It’s late enough that the lights are on, which gives it a cozy appearance even with the city still alive beyond the windows. 

They end up on the couch, and Revan explains as much as she can to them. It’s easier to talk about her unexpected friendship with Malak than she thought, and she finds herself grinning as she mentions Jolee’s mystery novels. Her whole heart wishes she could be back in that moment, to sit by his side in the peace of the evening, stealing glances at him between chapters.

She doesn’t talk about sleeping beside him, doesn’t mention the kiss she shared with Carth. She tries to keep it light, keep it reassuring. 

“As far as I know,” she finishes, “he’ll be safe here. The Council wants to help him, so I’m trying not to worry about it. I just--I don’t know. It’s harder than I thought it would be.” 

Juhani and Mission look at her with matching bewildered expressions, and Revan can’t help but laugh. “What?” 

“When we left, you two wouldn’t even talk to each other,” Mission says. “This is big. You actually care about him.”

“I do,” Revan confirms in a soft voice, remarking at how fast it turned around for them. It was so easy to be close to him, to lean into that familiarity, and the idea makes her all the more upset at herself for trying to tear it apart at the end. “Anyway. How have things been here?” 

Juhani fills her in for the most part, with a few interjections from Mission. It’s mostly work within the Jedi, trying to move on and get used to life after the Star Forge. Mission blushes deep blue when Revan asks about Dustil, but she doesn’t push. Instead she asks, “How’s Bastila?” 

“Recovering,” Juhani says. “It was...difficult at first, but I know too well the dangers of the dark side, and I’ve been helping as much as I can.”

Mission nods with wide eyes. “It’s weird to see her act so differently. She actually came to us first, before telling the Council about you and Malak. You could tell she really didn’t want to hurt you, but she was struggling. I felt so bad.” 

“I don’t blame her for what she did,” Revan says, wishing she could manage it all. She wishes she could take care of each and every one of them, and the guilt of letting Bastila down burns just as deep as her other failures. “I’d like to see her, though.” 

“She’s been working in another sector,” Juhani says. “She knows of your arrival, and should be back soon. I think she’s eager to see you.” 

Revan nods, not knowing what to expect from the following few days. She imagines there are many people she needs to talk to, many things to make right, and part of her wishes she could be back on Kashyyyk with Jolee and Malak, talking late into the evening around the kitchen table. 

But it’s nice to be here, and the three women take a little while longer to catch up before heading to bed. Mission and Juhani set her up on the couch, apologizing for the lack of a guest room, but Revan doesn’t mind one bit. 

It’s not until she’s alone in the living room with the lights off, that it all catches up with her. This whole day, from being put in handcuffs to watching Malak leave. From her separation from Carth to her reunion with Mission and Juhani. 

As tired as she is, she stays awake. The city lights burn a hole through the window, it’s blue and gold light that floods over her, and she wonders what Malak’s doing right now. She wonders if he feels safe, if he’s being watched, if he’s able to sleep.

She wonders if he’s thinking about her. 

And maybe she doesn’t sleep. It’s hard to tell as the restless hours drift by, but she watches the lines of the towers and listens to the sounds of the city, imagining him next to her the entire time. 


	15. Chapter 15

This is not an ending. 

It could be disguised as one, but there’s already been too much deception in this life. In hindsight, Revan supposes she should’ve seen it coming from the start. Perhaps it would’ve been obvious if she could’ve focused on something other than herself, or other than Malak. If she would’ve taken the time to think about it, she’d have seen the course her life was taking.

It’s easy to blame yourself after the fact. It’s easy to look back and know how you could’ve done it all differently, but that’s a dangerous place to go. Maybe there isn’t a way to reach into the past, but if there is, Revan still hasn’t found it. If there is, at least this time she knows which point she would go back to.

But it doesn’t matter--all that’s left are Revan’s decisions going forward, hoping that she survives the ones she’s already made.

If it takes five years, then it takes five years. It’s okay--there’s another to take her place.

\--

Bastila reaches out the next day. 

_I’m in the Senate District,_ her message says _, I’d like to meet you for lunch, if you have the time. It’d be a good opportunity to talk_. 

Revan reads it while she sips her coffee at the kitchen table. Juhani’s already left for the day. She took one look at Revan’s appearance this morning, shook her head, and told her that she needs to get more sleep. Revan laughed it off, but she knows she’s right, and it’s still a kindness that she needs. 

Now it’s Mission who sits at the other end of the table, rapidly spooning cereal into her mouth. The bowl clinks loudly with each spoonful, and Revan raises a brow at her. “What is this, a race?”

The twi’lek slows down for a moment, a sheepish smile working its way over her lips. “I slept in by accident. I’m supposed to meet Dustil in like, fifteen minutes.”

“What are you two up to?” 

But Mission shakes her head. “Don’t even.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” Revan defends, but she laughs. She loves the easiness of being with Mission. The girl’s been through so much but she still chooses not to let it affect her. She finds some sense of optimism in the chaos of it all.

Revan only wishes that were her case. 

“What about you?” Mission asks, and Revan pretends not to notice the change of subject. “Any plans for the day?” 

“I think I’m gonna meet Bastila,” she answers. “She’s invited me to lunch.” 

“Oh cool. Did she message you, or did she speak to you telepathically?”

Revan grins helplessly. “Our bond’s been broken since the _Leviathan_ , Mish.” 

She can still feel the moment it broke. It cut through her like a knife, severing whatever strength they lent each other, and Revan’s head felt like it was splitting apart. Overwhelming, blinding, and then gone. Bastila--gone. Initially she thought that’d been the end, that Bastila had been killed, but what was left were the tattered remains of their bond. Barely alive, hardly there, just a tiny fraction of what it used to be.

“Tell her I say hi?” Mission asks as she gets up. She drops her bowl into the sink and rinses it before grabbing her jacket. “Feel free to take anything out of my closet, you don’t really want to be walking around looking like that.”

Revan looks down at her robes, only slightly affronted. She’s been recycling the same ones over and over again, so maybe it’d be nice to change back into some civilian clothes. But still--“Thanks. Have fun with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Mission calls out as she leaves. The door shuts behind her and Revan shakes her head to herself. She feels strangely calm in the morning light, and she stays in it until she herself might be running late, sparing one more glance at Bastila’s message before abandoning her coffee to take a peek through Mission’s closet. 

\--

It’s like becoming a different person entirely. Suddenly she blends into the crowd again, dressed in a loose sweater and tight jeans. She hails a taxi outside the apartment building, reminding herself that just a few days ago she was wading into a swamp on Kashyyyk. Life is weird and strange, and trying to make sense of it feels like a pointless venture. 

The cafe that Bastila chose is sweet, small, and out of the way. It’s in a nicer area of Coruscant, the streets are clean, and people press their lips into smiles at Revan as she walks by. It might be nice, but it doesn’t feel right. They don’t know who she is. They don’t know what she’s done. 

Bastila herself looks a little worn. Her usually styled hair is loose, falling around her shoulders in waves, and she sits with her chin in her hand. She’s in the back corner of the cafe, and her eyes lift the moment that Revan steps inside. Revan doesn’t take the time to look around, just heads straight for her.

“Revan,” she says, and her grin is wary but it’s there. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me.” 

Revan returns her smile. “How could I say no?” 

“I should think you’d have many reasons by now.”

She doesn’t, though. As fractured as their relationship has been, it’s still Bastila. It’s never been easy for either of them, and Revan’s heart aches at the thought of Bastila fearing her rejection. 

“I don’t hold any of it against you,” Revan says as earnestly as she can, and it’s true. After everything they’ve been through together, Revan will always see the bigger picture when it comes to Bastila. 

“I told the Council about Malak,” she says. 

“I know.” 

“I betrayed your trust.”

Revan’s answering grin is weak. “I know.” 

“You’re not upset?” Bastila asks, her voice a pitch higher. It’s typical, and Revan can just imagine the way she’d say it before. She’d always get outraged over the smallest comments, and Revan used to find it so funny. Her amusement should’ve seen the truth, though. It should’ve seen through how fragile Bastila’s confidence really was. 

“I’m not upset,” Revan confirms, her tone more serious. “It wasn’t fair of me to put you in that situation. I know it wasn’t easy...with what Malak’s done to you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for putting you in the position to see him again.”

But Bastila shakes her head once, just a short, sharp movement. “It’s alright, I understand.”

She raises a brow. “You do?”

“Revan, I spared _your_ life,” she says. “I understand what it means to be in that moment, to make the decision not to kill someone who deserves it.”

“Oh, thanks,” Revan says with a laugh. She takes a breath, leaning back in her seat. “I guess I learned something from you after all.” 

“I should’ve done more.” She looks down at her hands. “I regret keeping so much from you, before. But I want you to know that I understand, I truly do.”

Revan nods. It makes sense. Bastila was in the exact same position, faced with a choice to spare or kill a Sith Lord. Perhaps it was under different circumstances, perhaps the meaning behind it wasn’t the same, but they’ve both experienced that critical moment. To make a choice when there’s no right or wrong answer. 

Revan presses her lips together, remembering that moment that Malak thanked her for saving his life. She looks at Bastila now, knowing how much that reassurance means. “Thank you for sparing my life. I know your objective was to capture me, but you didn’t have to. You could’ve let me die in Malak’s attack. So--thank you.” 

Bastila waves her off, but Revan can see the way her features relax. She can feel the bare bones of their bond, what’s left, and feels the relief that rushes through her. 

They catch up the best that they can. As deeply personal as their relationship was, it always centered around the mission. It was always about learning how to be a Jedi, about what the Council expected from them, what Bastila needed in order to feel like she was in control of the situation. They’ve had their issues, and they’ve suffered together, so it’s nice to take a breath with her here. 

They order lunch, and for once Revan doesn’t talk about Malak. Instead she asks about what Bastila’s doing in this sector, surprised that her mother ended up here after all. They’ve been reconnecting despite their problems of the past, and for the first time in a long time, Revan feels a genuine connection with Bastila. One that isn’t forced because of the bond. 

It’s not until they’re getting up to leave that Bastila asks, “Has he been helping you?” 

Revan only hesitates a second before answering. “As much as he can. I know it’s hard on him, and I’ve been hard on him, so... Now the Jedi have him, and I’m not really sure where to go from here.” 

“You should talk to them,” Bastila says. “Not just about Malak, but about your memories. I think they’d help.” 

The image of Atris’ face comes to mind, the open contempt she had for Revan. Perhaps one of the others might help but she can’t get her hopes up. “Maybe.” 

“It was good to see you,” she says. Her blue gray eyes squint against the sun, but she smiles at Revan. The two of them stand on a sidewalk on Coruscant and Revan finds it hard to believe that they got here. She can’t help it, she pulls Bastila in for a hug. 

The woman makes a surprised noise, but her arms wrap around Revan in return. They stay like that for longer than either of them would ever admit. 

\--

Revan runs into Zhar that afternoon. 

She was looking for Juhani, but as soon as she walks into the Temple she catches sight of the twi’lek’s familiar shape sitting by one of the fountains in the entry. He looks up as she enters the room, and a small smile fits itself on his lips, like just the sight of her is enough to make him happy. She doesn’t understand it, but she accepts it.

“Master Zhar,” she says, bowing her head. 

“Revan.” It’s strange for him to call her that, after training with him for so long on Dantooine. It still hurts to know that they all lied to her, but she understands the necessity as much as she hates it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?” she asks.

“I wanted to speak to you.” He gets up, nodding his head in the other direction. She falls into step beside him, used to the height difference since he’s nearly as tall as Malak. 

“About what?” she asks, and she’s glad that they’re walking. It’s easier to talk without his eyes on her, always scrutinizing her as if he’s looking for the differences between then and now. She can focus on the light shining in through the wide windows, the view of the city in the daytime beyond it. 

“I want to tell you that I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s something earnest in his voice that compels her to believe him. “I still feel the weight of our deception, and I want to apologize for hiding the truth from you. I’m glad you know now, even if it hasn’t been easy on you.”

She presses her lips together. “I am, too.” 

“And I want to thank you,” he continues. “I’d prepared myself for Malak’s death since he first left for the war, so I never imagined that I’d get the chance to speak to him again.”

“And have you?”

In her peripheral, she sees him nod. “We spoke this morning. It was...good. He is much like the boy I knew before. You know, as Jedi we aren’t immune to attachments. I realize it more and more all the time. It’s difficult not to be, when you spend years with a Padawan, raising them as you would a child. I watched over him from the time he was eight years old, until he was nineteen. That bond doesn’t break easily.” 

They stop walking, and Revan’s heart feels heavy. She wonders if perhaps it’s easier for her, after all, as she looks into Zhar’s eyes. The hurt is so open in them as he opens up to her, and it makes her feel all the more selfish for the things she’s thought, the things she’s done. 

She’s not alone in the pain of the past. 

“I’m sure he feels the same,” she offers, unsure of what she could say to make it any better. 

“He said as much,” Zhar says. “I’ve never seen him this hurt. I can sense that his desire for forgiveness is genuine, and it makes me proud as much as it hurts me in return.”

“Master?”

“I blame myself, you know. I was the one who looked after you at the end of your training. You and Malak were the joys of my life, and yet I couldn’t stop you when you went to war. I watched as you left everything behind, and all these years I’ve been wondering if I should’ve done something differently.” He pauses, looks away. “I know the folly of asking myself that, and I’ve put it to the Force, recognizing that this is the way it must be, as all things are.” 

There’s an ache she can’t chase away as she listens to him. 

“He asked me if I could ever forgive him,” he says. “It was never a question in my mind.” 

This is...intimate. She realizes that these are not things he should be saying to someone who barely remembers who she is. He seems to realize this as well, shaking his head. The clear light shifts over his purple lekku, and his lips quirk up on one side. “Forgive me, you and I used to share in many long conversations. It’s too easy to forget that you don’t remember. Back on Dantooine, it was difficult not to let it show.”

“I think I was a bit too caught up in it all to notice,” she offers. Her and Zhar were easily the closest during her training. He’s the one who taught her the code, who helped her craft her first lightsaber. It makes more sense, now, reflecting back on his caring nature and realizing that it ran deeper than she knew. 

“I never imagined I’d see the two of you together again,” he says, his voice wistful. “I thought it was enough, to see you despite the circumstances, but--this has been a lot.” 

She nods. “Can I see him?” 

She knows his answer the second she asks. She sees the regret on his face as he shakes his head again. “Perhaps tomorrow. The Council needs more time to speak to him and determine our course of action.” 

“Of course,” she agrees, unwilling to push it. There’s a delicate balance here that she can’t risk breaking yet. “You’ll look out for him?”

“I will,” he promises.

Revan offers him a grateful smile, and she bows her head before they say goodbye. He’s not out of reach before she calls back: “Master Zhar?”

“Yes?”

She looks at him. _Do you think it’s possible for me to get my memories back?,_ she almost asks. Something stops her. Perhaps it’s the fact that he was part of the decision to wipe her memories in the first place. As much as she feels as though she can trust him, she knows, deep down, that she can’t. “Has Master Atris always been so cold?” 

He smiles; it’s something small and sad. “No, she hasn’t. But I suppose we’ve all lost something to the wars.” 

It’s as much of an answer that she thinks she’ll get from him, and she nods absently before turning again. 

\--

Five days pass before she’s allowed to see Malak. 

She spends most of her time with Juhani at the Temple. The two spar and meditate and Revan waits for answers but they don’t come. She still doesn’t sleep, she just meditates through the long hours of night and waits and waits and waits. 

The days pass slowly, and it’s difficult not to seek out the Masters for help, but there’s a stubbornness in her that she can’t shake. 

It’s afternoon, and she’s having tea with Mission when she gets a message from Master Zhar: _Meet me at the Temple at your earliest convenience_. 

“Alright?” Mission asks, looking at Revan with interest. 

“Yeah, I--” Revan glances at the message again before getting up. “I need to head back to the Temple. Sorry, Mish.” 

The girl waves her off. “It’s fine, I’ll go bug Carth or something.” 

“Be nice,” she says, winking at her. They hug before parting, and Revan hails a taxi, waiting anxiously in the back seat. Her knee won’t stop bobbling up and down, and she wants to see Malak more than anything, but part of her is worried that after all this he won’t want to see her. The thought doesn’t last long, but it’s hard to fill her mind with anything resembling hope as she heads to the Temple, the speeder chugging along between towers. 

Zhar’s waiting for her when she gets there, and he smiles warmly.  “Revan.”

“You asked to see me?”

“The Council has decided to let you see Malak,” he says, and Revan’s stomach drops. 

She nods absently. “Okay.”

“We have to limit the length of your visit,” he says, and when he starts walking Revan follows. “It’ll take some time before we can instill any real trust in him, but he’s had a promising start.” 

She’s relieved, but she doesn’t ask any further questions as he leads her down a few hallways. There are checkpoints and clearances and finally they arrive at a door. It’s as unassuming as any other door in the Temple, and Zhar stops outside of it, turning to face Revan. “You can go in when you’re ready, but I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

She doesn’t think that’s enough time, but she nods. Zhar leaves and she has to take a deep breath, looking at the door for a long moment before she knocks and enters. 

It looks like an average apartment inside. There are two couches facing each other in the space that she enters, and when she looks up, Malak’s on the far side of the room, standing in the kitchen. Revan closes the door behind her and they both pause. This is new territory for them. There’s no impending doom, nothing to truly get in their way other than themselves. 

Malak doesn’t say anything, but he puts down whatever was in his hands and he draws closer. Revan moves as well, and somewhere in the middle they find each other. Wordlessly they both reach out, and Revan buries her face in his chest as his arms wrap tightly around her. 

“I missed you,” she says, the words muffled against his robes. She’s unwilling to go without saying it in case she can’t see him again for a while, in case it’s going to be a constant game of wait and see. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t believe that the Council wanted to keep me around, but I’m not complaining.”

“I told you,” she says, pulling back to look up at him. It feels so good to look in his eyes again, to see him and know for certain that he’s still here, still alive, still trying. “Look at us, we were worried over nothing.” 

But he shakes his head. “This isn’t nothing.” 

It’s sobering, but it’s true. This is safe, for now. It’s a temporary solution, and Revan wants to believe that it’ll work out for the best, but optimism still feels dangerous. After all this time, she has a hard time finding hope. “Yeah, well...I only have a few minutes. Please tell me you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” he reassures, gesturing to the couches. He sits on one, and Revan can’t help it, she sits right next to him, trying to ignore the smile that finds its way to his eyes. He says, “I think I’ve talked to each Council member individually five times now, but they don’t seem to hate me as much as I thought they would.” 

Revan almost laughs. “I think they like you more than me.” 

“Jealous?” 

“Wildly,” she says, and rolls her eyes. “But you’re alright?”

“Yes. What did they tell you?”

“That they’d be watching you. That they had to determine whether or not you were a threat.”

“I’m guessing the fact that you’re here is a good sign.” 

“I want to believe that.”

“But?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Nothing. Zhar said you had a promising start.” 

Malak averts his gaze, but a soft smile sits in his features. “I’m happy to talk to him.” 

She wants to ask if it’s different, but she knows that it is. There’s no way that it couldn’t be. She wants to ask if it’s helped, but he didn’t want this in the first place. She could apologize, but that doesn’t seem right, either. She sighs. “You’re going to be okay?”

“Revan.”

“I know, I just--it isn’t as easy as before. I don’t like being out of control like this.” 

_I don’t like being this far away from you_. 

He raises a brow. “That’s implying that it was easy before.” 

“Wasn’t it?” she asks, and maybe they’re talking about different things. He has more scope on the situation than she does. She’s thinking about the two of them in their shoddy blanket fort. She’s thinking about eating breakfast beside him, walking through the woods together. Of course it was easier, but it never could’ve lasted. 

“It’s never been easy for us,” Malak says, and he looks away. 

Revan doesn’t like the feeling that sinks in her stomach, but she has to look at the clock. “Listen, I--I don’t have much time...” 

“Hang on,” he says, and gets up, disappearing into another room. Revan waits on the couch, her eyes scanning around the room. It’s unassuming, plain, and she wonders what kind of security measures the Council’s taken here, both for and against him. 

But Revan takes a deep breath, closing her eyes against the late afternoon light that brushes over her skin. Malak returns a few moments later with a datapad in his hand, which he offers to her.

“What’s this?” she asks, looking down at it.

“Answers,” he says quietly, and when she glances up he’s watching her intently. “As much as I could. Ever since that fight on the _Ebon Hawk_ , I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to tell you. I haven’t been sleeping much here--taking after you, I guess--but I’ve spent my time writing down as much as I could. Please, don’t read it unless it’s your last resort. If--if something happens to me, or if this will spare you from danger, then go ahead. But if you can remember on your own, please. Please, Revan.” 

She nods, feeling sick inside. There’s nothing she can even say, other than, “Okay.”

The word comes out pathetically short of breath. It’s just the implication of it, but it’s enough to get him to breathe easier. Revan doesn’t like the suggestion of this, like she’ll need it, but she can’t deny the wisdom in it. 

She can’t deny her curiosity as to what it says. 

“I’ll keep this safe,” she says, tucking it against her chest. “I should probably go.” 

“One more thing,” he says as they both get up. “There’s an address in there. It’s for my old apartment, here on Coruscant. I was, uh, never able to give it up. It might...spark a memory, or something. I don’t know. It might help.” 

“I’m sure it will,” she says back. She clutches the datapad just a bit tighter, not ready to leave him again. When she looks at him, she knows her eyes are saying the same thing. She looks at him and he watches her in return and it’s too much and not enough at the same time. It’s too much to be here with him like this, to want to look after him, take care of him, pull him close and not let go. It’s not enough for just these brief few minutes, to have just a moment and then he’s gone, all over again. 

He holds in his arms, and if the strength of his grip is anything to go by, he’s feeling something similar. 

They murmur their goodbyes before Revan closes the door with a soft sound behind her. She has to lean against it, only righting herself when she notices Zhar coming back to see her. 

“Everything alright?” he asks. 

“Fine,” she answers with a nod. “Thank you, Master Zhar.” 

\--

Her hands shake as she tells the taxi where to go. 

The address doesn’t sound familiar to her, but that’s not a surprise. Her hands fidget in her lap as she waits out the ride, which isn’t long. Of course Malak lived near the temple but still, there’s a feeling she can’t shake as the taxi slows to a stop outside of a plain building. It’s not something she can name. 

He included the access code with the address, so it’s easy to get into the building. Her eyes move all around as she walks through the lobby, straight back to the elevator. Her body feels weird, like she knows this place deep inside herself. The elevator rises, and her nerves are completely shot. It rises and she double, triple checks that she has the apartment number right. It stops on the right floor with a soft ping, the door opens, and Revan steps out, looking both ways down the hallway. 

It feels odd, like she’s inhabiting someone else’s space. Like she knows she doesn’t belong in this building and any moment someone’s going to ask her to leave. It feels a lot like she’s breaking in, that she has no right to be here at all. 

The bland beige walls are as unfamiliar as the grey doors lining each side of the hallway. She keeps her eyes open for the right apartment, reading the numbers under her breath until she’s standing in front of Malak’s door.

She stares at it for too long, her hands still at her side. She stands in front of the door and she doesn’t move, just breathes and breathes and begs herself to go in.

She ends up sitting on the floor across from it, her back pressed against the wall. She wants to be ready but she doesn’t know how she could be. This is Malak’s space. This is a place where she could get real answers, and it’s a strange thing to be on the precipice of getting exactly what you want, and suddenly being unsure if you really want it. 

What if it’s not what she thinks it’ll be? What if she’s been wrong this whole time? 

_We both know that this is miniscule compared to what’s out there_ , her mother says, which steals Revan’s attention away. 

_I don’t know what’s out there_ , she says.

_Then perhaps it’s time_. 

Revan frowns. _Time for what?_ , she asks, but there’s no response. Revan is left in the silence of the hallway, staring at a door she knows she’s been through before. Taking a breath, she forces herself to stand and enter the keycode to the apartment. 

The door opens with a rush, and Revan stops in the entry. The lights are off but the afternoon sun is enough to wash the apartment in gray light. Ahead of her is a kitchen, the table littered with books that look to have been left alone for years. When she steps in she sees a living room to her left, a sofa, a bookcase, a television. There are two doors, presumably to the bathroom and bedroom. 

All of it is frighteningly familiar. She can feel it deep down, stirring up a feeling she’s never experienced before, like this could’ve been her home once. It’s like seeing a dream come to life, something you recognize only because it’s buried deep within your mind. 

Revan’s felt the ghost of memories, but this place is just a ghost. 

She lets her hands run along the furniture, stepping gingerly through the apartment. They slide over the backs of the kitchen chairs, along the outline of the table. She touches the back of the couch, trying to imagine them building a blanket fort around it. The memory doesn’t come, but it feels close to the surface. Being in here, all her memories somehow feel close to the surface. 

Malak’s presence is...unmistakable. It feels certain. Defined. It, too, feels like something she knows deep down, but can’t quite find. Her hand reaches for the door to the bedroom, and when she opens it, a wave of the past washes over her. 

It doesn’t feel like she’s breathing. She looks at the neatly made bed and the wide windows that stream light over it, trying to find something real in the midst of her half-aware memories. She doesn’t touch the bed, not yet. It feels too intimate where she’s already uncertain of their relationship, where she knows her desire but not the truth. 

It’s how she ends up back in the living room. It’s how she ends up looking at the bookshelf, scanning along titles until her gaze pauses on a camera tucked back on the highest shelf. 

She bites her lip, taking only a half second to consider it before she takes it off the shelf. It doesn’t turn on, but she pulls out the memory card and plugs it into her datapad, walking back to the couch. 

She curls up and waits for the files to upload. There are...687 photos. She shakes her head to herself, but starts flipping through them. 

They begin with Coruscant’s towers. They’re angled shots that look to be intentionally artistic, and Revan grins to herself as she imagines a younger Malak taking his time to photograph the city. There are photos of faces she doesn’t recognize, places she doesn’t recognize, but they all look happy. There are some photos of the Temple, which surprises her. There’s a single shot of a younger looking Kavar, and next to him is the girl she saw in her dream all those nights ago--her short dark hair instantly recognizable. 

Nothing truly makes her pause until she sees herself. And it’s funny, looking into her own eyes on the screen. She has no idea where she was, when this was, or why her grin is so wide. She sees herself and it might as well be another stranger. 

It’s the most real her memory loss has felt. 

The next photo must’ve been taken a moment later, because in this one her head is tipped back in a laugh as she extends her hand towards the camera. She looks...happy. Happy in a way she’s never seen herself before, like it’s easy. 

The next one of is her and Malak, and she swears her heart stutters to a stop as she takes in the sight of the two of them. They’re sitting in a restaurant booth, his arm rests on her shoulder and his head tilts towards hers, both of them looking at the camera with matching grins. 

Surprisingly, tears spring to her eyes as she looks at Malak, and her fingers automatically reach up to brush against his jaw--made whole in the memories of the past. His teeth were perfect, all straight and white, and there’s a sharpness to his jawbone, leading down to the curve of his chin. The wrinkles around his eyes match his grin instead of cold, hard metal, and Revan’s heart breaks for this boy. 

He had no idea what was coming for him. 

As she continues flipping through pictures, it becomes clear the timing of when she was there and when she wasn’t. Malak told her she visited him on Coruscant, and she must’ve stayed in the apartment because there are pictures of her here. In some she’s in the kitchen or on the couch, but even the ones where they’re out somewhere (never at the Temple), she dominates his photos. As a subject, she’s photographed over and over again, and as strange as it is to see herself, she gets used to it. She likes it. 

It goes back and forth, the pictures go back to city towers and strangers, things she doesn’t see once she shows up again. 

Her heart drops when she sees Taanab. This, she recognizes. The golden plains look just the same as they do in her memory. There are shots of the rows of fields, some of the house itself, and plenty of Malak bathed in warm sunlight. She smiles because she can just imagine herself getting payback for all the photos he took of her. 

There’s one she really likes. It’s of the front porch, with Malak, Jarek, and Sarin sitting at the table. The two Averre’s are laughing with their heads tilted back, but Malak just has his full lips pressed into a grin, his eyes on her. 

There are only a few of her on Taanab, but she looks happy. The sun makes her pale blonde hair look golden, her skin glowing in the evening light. Revan feels her heart ache for this girl as well, who seemed to have something good but it didn’t last. 

There’s some of the wedding--the rows of chairs at the ceremony and the tables at the reception, full of flowers and elegant place settings, things she described to Malak that one morning. There’s one of her and Malak together, he’s dressed in a suit and she’s wearing a full length dress, his arm is tight around her waist--and Revan has to stop. 

_He was at the wedding_ , she tells herself. _When you told him about it, he already knew_.

_He was there_. 

She can’t leave this photo. Malak had been so upset when she brought up the wedding, but he’d laughed it off when she asked why. Looking into their bright faces, his hand splayed against her body--it’s obvious how happy they were in that moment, and she can’t believe how unfair it was to do that to him, even if she didn’t know.

She keeps going. The photos go back to Coruscant after that, just a few of the apartment and one of the strangers she saw before. She checks the dates on them, there are only four photos to make up the span of six months. 

But then she shows up again. 

Something must’ve happened, because he goes back to taking photo after photo of her, and at first she can’t tell what’s different, but it’s there. It’s in her smile, it’s in her eyes--something’s changed but it isn’t obvious.

Or at least, not until she reaches the photo of her stretched out in his bed. 

Her stomach drops when she sees it, and she has to blink a few times at the sight of it. It looks like he was sitting next to her, judging from the angle, and she’s laying on her stomach, just the hint of her bare back showing through the crumpled blanket on top of her. She isn’t smiling, but she doesn’t look unhappy. There’s a peace in her expression as she regards the camera, and it isn’t much, the whole photo doesn’t say a lot, but it’s enough for Revan. 

The next one must’ve been taken at a later date. It looks like Malak turned the camera back on the two of them, their heads tucked close together as they grin. The next is nearly the same, except this time Malak’s pressing his lips to her cheek, and her smile is blinding. 

Revan smiles at it now, the sweetness of the two of them together. There’s some satisfaction in knowing that what she’s feeling now is based on something real, but it’s bittersweet to know what happens in the end.

But then something in the photos changes again. Months go by without a single picture taken, enough that she wonders if something happened to Malak’s camera. The next one is of her, she’s sitting at the kitchen table and she’s not paying attention. Her head rests against her fist as she looks down at a datapad, the lines of her face drawn into something deeply unhappy. 

It progresses from there. The photos are sporadic, and they could almost pass for what they were before--two people in love--but there’s this common element in each of them. It’s just her, as far as she can tell, because in the pictures of her and Malak, or her and strangers, she’s grinning just same as everyone else, but there’s a look in her eye that says just the opposite. 

_You just have this way about you,_ Malak had said, _where it’s like even if you’re happy you’re not all the way happy. You’ve been hurt by a lot of people, but you never wanted anyone to know._

Revan frowns to herself, and quickly flips back through all the pictures of herself. Her heart drops as she reevaluates the ones in which she thought she looked so happy, because it’s still there in her eyes, just not as obvious as the more recent ones. It’s a thread of sadness woven through each picture of her, where she could be grinning her biggest smile and it still isn’t enough to mask whatever was underneath the surface. 

_You’ve never been equipped to handle tragedy, so you created your own_.

She puts down the datapad for a moment, forcing herself to take a breath. She looks around the apartment as it is now, and she feels the emptiness of it. Even if she was struggling with something she doesn’t understand, there was still life to her then. There was life between the two of them, here, and now it’s been left alone for years and years and years. 

She shakes her head to herself as she picks up the datapad again, continuing where she left off. Perhaps this is after Sarin and Kalen died. The timing of it would make sense, and she’s fairly certain Malak said she moved to Coruscant after that, which lines up with her still being in the photos months later. 

It would certainly contribute to the look in her eyes. 

But there’s still some happiness to be found. Her and Malak must’ve made friends outside the Jedi, because there are plenty of photos of them together. It looks like they went to cantinas, or were hanging out on the streets, his arm always around her. In these ones she looks like she’s trying. The sadness isn’t as obvious when she’s with Malak. 

There’s one photo that makes her feel dizzy. It’s of the two of them, and it looks like they’re at a garden place--something outdoors, at least, with greenery that isn’t often found here--and his mouth is pressed against hers. Malak has an arm around her middle, the other lifted to fit his hand against her jaw as they kiss, seemingly unaware of the camera pointed at them. Their heads are angled just right, making it look so casual--something practiced, something normal, something _real_. 

Why did this have to happen to them? 

Revan swallows the lump in her throat, only half aware of the rest of the pictures. She scrolls through them quickly, enough to see things continue to shift and spread out. The last one she stops at is of a group of people that are different from the strangers before. Her and Malak stand in the middle of them, and on her other side is the boy from her first dream, shaggy blonde hair and a wide smile. There are two women she doesn’t recognize, but then there’s that same girl as before, the one who stood with Kavar. 

Each of them has a lightsaber clipped to their belt.

They have to be the Jedi that followed her to war. Malak told her about them--her friends--and how they were the only ones who believed in her enough to follow her first. 

He also said that most of them died.

_Talvon_ , she thinks, looking at the boy. Her heart breaks for him without knowing why. The three women must be Cariaga, Nisotsa, and Meetra, but she can’t tell which is which. They all look too happy for people who were about to walk away from everything they’ve ever known. 

Her head’s starting to hurt, so she puts down the datapad again and closes her eyes for a moment. As much as she got her answer about her and Malak, it just makes her want to remember all the more. She wants to know about these people, know about her and Malak. She looks at the datapad he gave her, the one with all the answers, and turns her head away. 

She gets up from the couch, stretching her arms over her head. It’s dark at this point, and she turns the lights on in the apartment, taking a long moment to just look at the space, willing herself to remember it. 

When she’s had enough of that, she wanders back into the bedroom. This time she feels more comfortable looking around, but still she only glances at the bed. To know that Malak once loved her here is overwhelming. Instead she opens the drawers of the bureau, looking through a mix of both of their clothes.  

Her heart breaks for their past selves, the ones who lived a life this close, and part of her wonders how they were able to keep it from the Jedi. How were they so involved, so obvious in public, without anyone finding out? Surely things would’ve been different had the Council known. For both then and now. 

Her head isn’t feeling any better. It still aches from the base all the way to her brows, and she goes back to the kitchen, opening cabinets until she finds a glass, which she puts under the sink. She drinks it in long, slow gulps while her eyes scan over the magnets on the refrigerator. Most of them look like souvenirs--all colorful shapes and names of cities she doesn’t recognize. 

One looks like it’s from Alderaan, and she reaches up to touch it as though just the feel of it could return her memories to her. It doesn’t, but she can pretend it does. 

On the other side there’s a note pinned to the fridge, and it says: _Hey Squint, call me when you wake up. I’m on my way to meet Dain, he said it was an emergency but we both know how he is._

It’s signed with just a heart. Revan has no idea which one of them wrote it. 

She leaves the kitchen with a sigh, going back to the bedroom. She sets her glass of water down on the side table before gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s a slow process, but eventually she makes herself lay down on top of the covers, pulling one of the pillows under her head. It doesn’t smell like home, it smells like it’s been sitting untouched for years. She stares at the smooth white ceiling above her and she wonders, and wonders, and wonders. 

She knows she’s been here before, but her mind won’t give her the memory like it did when Malak hit her or when Carth kissed her. Something’s stirred up under the surface, but she can’t access it. 

She closes her eyes. 

She doesn’t know if she’s asleep, doesn’t know if she’s dreaming, all she knows is that her thoughts are busy for a long time and then they’re not. She feels that helpless stirring of being awake, and then she doesn’t. 

She feels completely alone, but then--there’s a familiar voice. 

_You’ve let others dictate your path for too long_ , says her mother. It’s as real as it always feels, like she could be sitting right next to Revan saying these same words. 

_It’s not that easy,_ Revan defends. And it’s not. There are too many pieces in play here, the dejarik board’s a tangled web of potential moves, each one of them with their own consequences. 

_It could be_. 

And Revan feels herself sigh. Her hands grip the blanket below her; she doesn’t want this conversation right now. There has to be a point where it’s too much. Being here and seeing the pictures is a heavy weight to bear, and yet now her mother wants to push it further. 

_How could it be easy?_ she asks. 

A moment passes, then: _If you remembered._

_Wouldn’t that be nice?_ Revan feels the corners of her lips rise in a tired smile. Just a weak, empty thing. It would be nice, even if it changed everything. Part of Revan hesitates at the idea, but every other part of her wishes more than anything she could remember. 

And it’s just a moment after she thinks it, that the space behind Revan’s eyes rush with vivid colors, bright flashes--the sounds and shapes of memories out of focus. None of it is concrete, none of it slows down enough for her to catch on, see what they really are. It’s a taste without the substance, and Revan’s head aches more than it did before. 

Her eyes blink open as soon as it ends, but she’s still in the same room. Her eyes open and it’s still the flat white of the ceiling with the city lights brushing over her body laid on top of Malak’s bed. 

_What was that?_ she asks, but there’s no response. Revan’s heart races as she sits up, glancing all around her as though any of it can bring it back. 

Her mother knows. Her mother has the answers. _Show me_. 

_Not yet_. 

Revan’s hands clench as she gets up. It’s late and she can’t stay here tonight, but she wants the answers more than she’s wanted anything in this life. In the living room she grabs her datapad, making sure the photos download onto it. She put the memory card back into the camera, tucks it in the highest shelf again, and turns the lights off one by one. 

In the dark, her gaze sweeps over the apartment one more time, her heart somewhere between satisfied and totally broken. 

\--

Revan walks home--or rather, she just walks. She doesn’t quite know the way back to Juhani and Mission’s apartment, but she knows the general direction, and so she crosses her arms over her chest as her feet carry her down unfamiliar sidewalks. 

The city’s more alive at night. The grey blue light of the evening is drowned by the bright lights of the towers and the cantina signs. The quiet of night’s replaced by the thundering beat of music carrying through the air, the sound of people crowded around each other, smoking and talking and yelling. 

Revan feels like a ghost moving through the streets--an empty shell, haunted by herself. She feels like a ghost, completely alone, completely silent as she moves through the thrumming life of the streets. 

Despite the sound, despite the noise, she still hears her mother’s voice when she says, _It’s time to remember_. 

_Okay_. If her mother can help her remember, then she wants her to. If her mother can help her remember everything, if that’s the key to all of this, then that’s a good thing, right? This is where she makes it right. 

But then-- _It’s time to go back._

Revan stops. Looking over, her eyes unfocus on the yellow white light of a convenience store as she asks the same question she’s been asking for days: _Go back where?_  

Again her mother doesn’t answer her, and Revan feels like she can’t breathe. Why play these games with her? Her desire to remember is an honest thing, an honest desire to understand her own past, and it’s unfair for her mother to taunt her like this. 

Revan closes her eyes for just a half second before walking over to the road, hailing the first taxi that’s free. She rattles off the address for Mission and Juhani’s apartment, slumping into her seat in the back. The window is open and the warm night air rushes in as blue and bright light washes over her, shadows shifting over the seats of the speeder. 

She breathes. She thinks about her mother’s words. Not just tonight’s, but from the start. She first heard her mother’s voice some time after her identity was revealed to her, and she wrote it off as her imagination. 

It was easy to speak to her, to this awareness that she liked to pretend belonged to her mother, even though she knew it was most likely her own conscious. It’s helped her more than she’ll admit, allowing her to slow down or think things through, to have that voice she could argue with, to help her understand where her own mind is at. 

_You never knew either of your parents_ , Malak had told her, and as much as that hurts, she knows it’s the truth. She knows this is all made up in her own head, and perhaps it’s just her memories begging to come back to her that’s brought this all about. 

_You always could be foolish when you needed answers that weren’t there_ , that same voice says, and Revan turns her face from the window. 

_Are you saying that you’re real?_ she asks. 

_If you have to ask, you haven’t been paying attention._

Revan runs a hand through her hair. Her thoughts are too clouded for this, there’s too much going on, and she just wants answers. She’s tired of asking, she’s tired of waiting. She’s tired of letting others decide. _Then tell me who you are_. 

_An old friend_ , her mother answers, and Revan remembers a dream--her mother’s voice, the shape of a figure on a hill. Her thoughts falter as she considers it. Has she been speaking to someone this whole time?

_A name_ , Revan replies, even as she feels some sharpness in chest. _I need a name_. 

But it’s silent for a long time, until: _A name would not satisfy. Come, meet me as soon as you can. There is much to discuss, and much to remember._

Revan’s heart races. _Where?_ she asks. 

And there’s an inexpressible chill that runs through her when her mother answers, _Malachor V._

\--

Revan slips into the apartment, keeping her movements light and silent. It’s too late for anyone to be awake, so she’s alone as she folds herself up on the couch. Her exhausted body begs her for rest, but Revan lays there and thinks and thinks and thinks. 

For the most part, she plans. It’s not a question in her mind whether or not she should go. She knows she has to. It’s deciding when, it’s deciding how. It’s deciding who to tell and who to keep it from. 

She’s not afraid of what she’ll find out there, and as the night hours bleed into the early morning, she finds she’s more afraid of someone following after her, putting themselves in danger all because she needs to remember. If she’s going to do this, she needs to go alone. 

It would hurt them. Not just her friends, but the Council as well. It would leave Malak vulnerable. But as she goes over all the cons, she realizes that if she leaves, if she finds her answers, she’ll be able to come back and be the person they need her to be. 

She just can’t live like this anymore. 

It’s early when she gets up. The sun rises as she downs a cup of coffee, writing a note for Juhani and Mission. She doesn’t want it to be their last interaction before she leaves, but it might have to be, and she wants to give them something to hold onto. 

_I have to take care of something, I’ll be back_. 

It’s not enough, but it’s inconspicuous. It’ll buy her some time--she doesn't plan on being gone for long. 

Revan drags a hand through her hair before stepping out the door. She only has one bag--the curse of living out of a ship for over a year--and little possessions. She’s been wearing the same clothes for the past two days but she doesn’t care. She’s become this desperate person, lost and exhausted, and she sees the light at the end of the tunnel. She sees a way out. 

The taxi ride is short, pulling up to a tall building as the sun earnestly floods the city in light. Crossing the empty courtyard, she knows he’ll be here. She stops in the lobby to grab a cup of coffee before finding her way to his office.

He answers immediately, opening the door with a surprised expression. “Revan?” 

She smiles. “Carth.”

“Is everything alright?” 

“It’s fine,” she assures, handing him the cup. “Can’t I just stop by to visit you?” 

He looks suspicious but he accepts it, a warm smile crossing his lips. “You can, you just...haven’t.” 

“I know,” she murmurs, feeling a pang of guilt. They arrived a week ago and she hasn’t seen him since they bound her wrists and took her away. She knows Mission told him what happened, but that doesn’t feel like enough in the face of all that’s happened.

Part of it is because of everything that happened, everything that’s still happening all at once. Part of it is the guilt that still burns from their kiss. Part of it is because now she needs something from him.

“Sorry,” she says. “Consider this a peace offering.” 

“I think we’ve had too many of those,” he returns, but he grins and gestures to the chair across from his desk. 

She sits, her eyes scanning the room around her. It’s enormous--spacious and cold and uncomfortable. “How much do you hate this office?” 

“More than you’d think,” he says with a laugh. “I never imagined myself having one, but since there’s so much work to do...” 

Revan presses her lips together. “Being grounded doesn’t suit you, Carth.”

“I know,” he mutters. “But it’s an honor getting a promotion like this, and since Dustil is here, I guess it makes sense.”

“Do you ever think about taking the _Hawk_ out for a spin?” 

She looks for answers in his grin, which is full and genuine. He turns his chair a little so he’s facing the window, the morning light washing over his profile. “I would if I had the time. Last I heard, the Republic moved it to a private hangar at the spaceport. I don’t think they know what to do with it.” 

“Not much good a smuggler’s ship can do for the Republic, is there?”

“No,” he says. He looks back to her. “It’s technically still your ship, though.”

Revan smiles. “Well, I did steal it.” 

Carth laughs and Revan likes the sound of it. She memorizes it, just in case. The laughter dies down, though, and they’re left in the quiet of the room. Two people who have been through too much. Two people who have put each other through too much. 

“I know I messed things up,” she murmurs. “Everything changed the moment I saved Malak. It’s pointless, but I can’t help but wonder what would be different if I hadn’t. If you and I--”

“You’re the last person I’d expect to ask, ‘what if’, Revan,” he says, stopping her from carrying the thought on. And he’s right, it’s not a place she normally goes, but she’s wondered about a lot of things lately. “Have you been able to see him yet?”

“I have.” Her hands tighten around the arms of her chair, thinking about the datapad in her bag. “He seems like he’s doing alright. The Jedi have been kinder than I expected them to be. Part of me is worried that they’ll change their minds any minute, but I think he’s in the safest place possible right now.” 

“That’s good. That’s where he should be.” 

She takes a breath, looking down at her lap before meeting Carth’s gaze. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“If, um,” she starts. “If anything ever happens to me, will you look out for him? I’m not--I’m not looking for anything specific, and I know it’s a lot to ask from you, but he’d need someone on his side.”

She knows Carth still struggles with his anger towards Malak, but there’d been something resembling progress the last time they spoke about it, and she wouldn’t ask unless it was important. Carth’s the only one with political pull in the Republic. If anything goes south with the Jedi, Carth could make something go right. 

“What--why? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she reassures. “And I think he’ll be fine. It’s more of a ‘just in case’ kind of question than anything else.” 

“Okay,” he says, but the word is slow and drawn out. “You know I’d do anything for you, Rev.” 

She does know. That’s what breaks her heart. “Thank you, Carth.” 

He nods. “You got it.” 

They talk for only a little while longer. Revan’s anxious to get going, which she does, and before she leaves, Carth wraps her up in a warm hug, telling her to stop by again soon. 

\--

There’s only one person she needs to say goodbye to. One person whose fate’s been tied to hers, perhaps, for his whole life. 

She won’t leave him in the dark. 

And maybe it’s a courtesy she should extend to the others. She sits in the back of a taxi and thinks about the kindness Mission and Juhani have continually showed her, the warmth of her last visit with Bastila, the way Carth smiled at her as she left, and she knows that she owes these people more than she can give them. They deserve someone better than her.

It’s just...a risk. This is something she needs to do on her own, and she knows Malak will understand. Or rather, she hopes he does. Either way, she can’t just abandon him after turning him over to the Jedi. She can’t leave him completely in the dark. 

She looks for Master Zhar in the Temple. Having already let her see him, she hopes his kindness for the two of them will last just a little bit longer. 

But it’s Master Vrook that she runs into instead. 

“Revan,” he says, his voice managing to make her name sound like a grumble. “What can I do for you?” 

_I was looking for Zhar_ , she wants to say, but thinks better of it. Vrook’s always waiting for her to say the wrong thing, and she’s stubborn enough to try not to. “I was hoping I’d be able to see Malak.” 

“So soon?”

“Is it?” she asks, careful to keep her expression neutral. 

But he shakes his head to himself, and his disapproval feels like a permanent thing. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” she says, uncertain of where this is going. “Depends on if that’s a good thing or not.” 

“I’m asking myself the same question,” he murmurs, and for a moment she can see a depth in his eyes that’s been missing. It lasts for just a brief moment, just a second, but it’s there all the same, and it’s a sadness she’s never seen before. 

“You know, Malak told me a little about the past,” she offers. “He said you and I were friends, once.”

“Perhaps,” he says, a sigh rushing out of his mouth. “But whatever friendship we had, Revan, is long dead.” 

“But it’s true?”

He turns his head, his eyes somewhere far away, and it’s just one word that falls from his lips: “Yes.” 

All the frustration she’s felt towards him seems unfair, now. In many ways he deserved it, but seeing him like this, knowing that they were once close, and knowing that she turned her back on him? It doesn’t sit well with her. 

She doesn’t know what to say. Once again, she doesn’t know enough to know what to say. There’s a history here she doesn’t understand, and it’s just another piece of the puzzle out of reach. 

“I was going to train you, you know,” he says, and the words sound like they come out against his will. He still doesn’t look at her. “When Master Kae was exiled, it was going to be me who took her place.” 

“Why didn’t you?” she asks. 

He just shakes his head, though. He shakes his head and this time Revan really looks at him. She takes in the soft wrinkles around his mouth, the way shadows of the room sink into them and make them seem harsher. His brows dip low, they’re long and scraggly, and Revan can’t help but feel some draw to him. As angry and as bitter as he’s been with her, he’s lived this way for a long time. 

“The Council was concerned about you,” he explains, which is more than she expected. “We made decisions based on things that shouldn’t have been factors.” 

Revan frowns; wary. “I can’t speak for the past, but I doubt things would’ve been different if it’d been you instead.” 

But they would’ve, wouldn’t they? She wouldn’t have spent so much time with Malak, and perhaps she wouldn’t have been sent to Taanab. Her whole life might’ve been different had a different decision been made, but that’s too big to speculate. There are too many things that happened to wonder which one is the problem. 

“I asked you to wait,” he says, and this time he looks at her with a suddenness that makes her stomach jump. “I said to wait, that the Council would figure it out, but you couldn’t do that. I asked you to _trust me_ , and you wouldn’t.”

He sighs again, long and deep. “The last time we spoke, you said I was no better than Master Kae.” 

“Why would I say that?” Revan asks, her eyes narrowing at the mention of her old Master. She can’t help but wonder--

_Tell me who you are._

_An old friend_. 

“I’ve stopped trying to figure it out,” Vrook says, breaking her chain of thought. “You were hurt and you wouldn’t let anyone help. Not even Malak.” 

Maybe that shouldn’t make Revan want to remember--the past seeming so dark and difficult--but it does. She wants to know it all, know why he looks at her like this, why Malak’s name is the best sound she knows. In a small voice she asks, “Can I see him?” 

Vrook doesn’t respond at first, and she sees something in eyes that makes her think he’s considering it. It feels like a long moment that passes before he nods, and turns towards the corridor next to them, saying, “Come on.” 

They walk side by side in silence. Vrook’s shorter than her, and for some reason she’s wondering how long he’s known her. She wonders if they met when she was a child, if he’s watched her grow up into this person, from a kid to a Sith Lord to a broken woman who can’t remember any of it.

They stop at Malak’s door, and Vrook turns to her. They watch each other for a moment, but all he says is, “Don’t be long.” 

She thinks he wanted to say something different, but she can’t be certain and either way, he walks away. Revan watches him go, the weight of his hurt sinking in her stomach. 

But that’s not her purpose now. 

She knocks before entering, and Malak’s sitting on the couch. His attention snaps up to her at the sound of the door opening, and she watches the smile that blossoms across features. It’s gentle and kind, and he looks so soft sitting there with a blanket across his lap, a datapad in his hand. 

He puts it down and stands up, coming over to her where she’s frozen in place by the door. He wraps her up in his arms, saying, “Careful, or I’ll get used to you stopping by.” 

“Can’t have that, can we?” she asks, and she smiles back at him but there’s a heaviness behind her eyes. She can’t help it, all she can do is focus on her breathing. In and out. Malak watches her.

“What’s wrong?” The concern that replaces his smile breaks her heart, and his hand cups her elbow, his touch gentle, and that only makes it worse, doesn’t it?

Revan tries to smile again. “Nothing. It’s fine. We should sit.” 

“It’s not fine,” he says, but they settle onto the couch, close enough that their legs touch, and Malak reaches for her hand. “What is it?” 

Revan looks down at their entwined fingers, the squeeze of his around hers, and she has to close her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she looks up at him, seeing the boy from the pictures in his eyes. She has hurt him so exponentially in this life. 

“Talk to me,” he says as the quiet draws on. “Come on, I know you.” 

And finally shakes her head. “That’s the problem, Malak. It’s been the problem the whole time. You know me. I don’t.” 

There’s a tick of confusion in the way his eyes blink at her. “What?” 

How nice would it be, if they were back in Jolee’s hut instead. To be together in front of the fire, curled up on his couch as the evening hours wore on. She thinks about Malak holding her there, the way his body lulled hers into sleep. She thinks about this and she looks at him now, and there’s nothing that would make this easier. “There’s something I need to do.” 

The confusion in his features only gets worse, and he leans back a little as his eyes narrow. “What is it?” 

“I--I can’t tell you,” she says, which feels worse than she thought it would. “I just--need you to know that I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.” 

His hand lets go of hers. 

“Why?” he asks.

She looks away, and like this she feels so wholly separate from him. “It’s just something I have to do.” 

“Don’t,” he says, and reaches for her hand again. When his skin touches hers, she looks back at him, her heart breaking at the expression in his eyes. “Please don’t do this to me again, don’t keep me in the dark like this.” 

And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? That’s it’s something she’s done before. She’s hurt him like this before and she’ll hurt him like this again, but-- “It’s for your protection, Malak. If anyone asks you where I went...I can’t make you responsible for keeping it from anyone.” 

“You’re not telling anyone where you’re going?” he asks, and perhaps that makes him even more upset. “Do you realize how stupid that is?” 

“I know, and I don’t expect you to understand--” 

“Of course I don’t understand,” he interrupts, his voice harsh. He seems to realize it though, and he leans back and breathes out, the mechanical sound of his jaw familiar to her. “Why?”

“The truth is out there, and I think I know how to find it. I--I promise, it’s going to be okay.” 

“Then why does it feel like I’m going to lose you if you leave?” 

“You won’t,” she says, and she doesn’t hesitate to pull him into her arms, wrapping them around his neck. His head tucks in against her shoulder, his grip just as tight around her middle. In this moment she can almost pretend that everything is safe and warm, and that the feelings between them make sense. 

“I saw the pictures,” she offers, pulling back so she can see his face. She stays close, one hand clutching his arm while the other cups his metal jaw, her thumb sweeping over the smooth skin of his cheek. His eyes are turned down, but she still smiles at him. “We looked happy.” 

Her voice breaks on the word _happy_ , and he finally meets her gaze. They’re red with unshed tears but the blue of them is unwavering, and all he says is one word: “Please.”

“You and me. We’re not over yet, okay?” she assures. “I’ll come back for you.” 

But he lets go, turning away. He hunches over, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head falls into his hands. Revan brushes a stray tear from her face as she gets up, and she steps in front of him. She covers his hands with her own, gently prying them away from his face.

“Hey, hey--Malak,” she murmurs. “I _will_ come back for you.” 

His head is in her hands as he finally looks up at her, and Revan reaches for the mechanism she saw him pull on before. Her other hand works at the bolt against his ear, and it clicks as the jaw comes loose and she sets it aside. 

He looks up at her, broken in her hands, a victim to who she was. But he’s not broken to her. She looks at him, at what’s left of him, and he’s still that beautiful boy in the photos. He deserves more than this, but this is all she has.

His hands find her waist as she steps even closer, and she cups his face as she leans down to kiss his forehead. 

“I’ll remember everything,” she says against his skin, and she lingers there for a long time before tracing her lips down to his cheek. “And everything will be okay.” 

Both of their faces are wet with tears, and Revan can hardly breathe as she pulls away, concerned by the finality of the way this feels. This time she leans down, and she lets her lips rest against what’s left of his--just the fragment of his top lip between hers. It’s a broken as a kiss can be, but he leans into it and his hands tighten around her. 

“I promise,” she whispers against him. She pulls back just a fraction but Malak doesn’t let her get far. He tugs her back in against himself, and every bit of his strength holds her, his head pressed against hers. 

“I love you,” he says in a rush, the words punching through the charged air between them. The truth of it burns, deep down, and she wishes she could say it back.

It’s Revan’s breaking point. It’s where she realizes that she can’t stay any longer, because then she’d never leave. She has to go now or she’ll stay right here with him, and she’ll never know the truth. 

She slowly pries herself out of his grip, her hands pulling his arms off of her as she feels his gaze searching hers. She doesn’t meet it, instead she looks down at the proximity of their bodies before she takes a step back

Goodbye feels too final. Goodbye feels like an ending, and this is not an ending. She reaches for her bag, her hand too tight around it as she picks it up and walks towards the door. She can’t leave without one last look, and she turns around, her eyes finding him still on the couch. 

He watches her, and the heartache that sits openly in his face is enough to break her own heart. 

She said what she said though, and she promised to come back. 

There’s nothing else. 

\--

There’s only one person who knows where Revan goes, and perhaps that’s the point--there’s only one person to meet her there. 

Revan, her ship, and her two droids hurtle across the galaxy, uncertain of what they’ll find, but they head towards it all the same. Revan, desperate for answers, steps across the scorched path that leads her to the Trayus Academy. She doesn’t yet know that this is just the start of a bigger war.

The truth is, Malachor V will always be an ending, and it will always be a beginning. 

This is not an ending. 

\--

_Just give me time_  
_You know your desires and mine_  
_So wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine  
_ _For I must be well_


End file.
